


Dorian's Satchel of Little Jewels

by TCRegan



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-05-08
Updated: 2016-08-22
Packaged: 2018-01-24 01:41:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 48
Words: 22,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1586954
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ongoing collection of drabbles and shorter ficlets that don't have a place having their own post. Warnings/Pairings will be posted in the notes, and chapters will be titled with a brief description. This is also where I will be posting prompts that I've taken from other people. </p><p> <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1586954/navigate">Link to Chapter List</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Anders/F!Hawke - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/F!Hawke  
> Rating: G  
> Notes: for thinkfirst who wanted a trip to the hospital after sex.

"Shut. Up. Nathaniel. It's not funny!"

Anders lay on the hospital bed, an ice pack on his groin. He was sure that Marian would have joined him in his laughter had she not been the cause of his injury. Nathaniel Howe, his best friend since high school and fellow nurse at the free night clinic was doing his best not to laugh.

"So tell me again how it happened, so I can mark it on the chart."

Anders covered his face with his palm, heaving a heavy sigh.

There was no way he was ever going to live this down.


	2. Anders/M!Hawke - NC-17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/M!Hawke  
> Rating: NC-17
> 
> for theangrywarlock who was annoyed with Tallis and wanted her dead.

Anders tilted his head back against the stone, closing his eyes as Hawke gently kissed down his neck to his collarbone. Insistent hands pulled at his coat and shirt, fingers moving deftly inside to find a nipple. He pinched, then rolled, and Anders laughed as his hips bucked involuntarily.

"Shh," Hawke chided. "We're supposed to be finding a way in the castle, remember?"

"You can always say that you're performing research into seduction as a way of infiltrating the house of fops – oh!"

Hawke had lowered his head, teasing that same nipple with his mouth now. Anders whined, pushing his chest forward. Hawke pushed back, pinning him to the wall.

"Hope I'm not interrupting anything!" came an annoyingly know-it-all voice.

Anders closed his eyes, sighing. Tallis. And of course she had to have known she was interrupting something, it was quite apparent to anyone who might have come upon their little alcove. She was simply the only one callous enough to say something. And in that irritating tone of voice, as if she was so smart, as if she were the only one who ever interrupted a couple having sex. Or starting to.

"Go away, Tallis," Hawke growled. "We'll help you in a minute."

"Oh, is a minute all it takes? Not what I've heard about the Grey Warden stamina!" she said, in what she obviously thought was an off-handed tone.

It was like nails on slate, Anders thought.

Nails… Hawke's hands hadn't stopped, and they were moving now from his chest down to the front of his pants. He licked his lips and tried to concentrate on the warmth of Hawke's hand, cupping him through the fabric. His cock strained against his smalls and Hawke's mouth found his nipple again.

Anders opened his eyes slowly, watching as Tallis shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot. Hawke knelt down, mouth replacing his hand and Anders' hips jerked again.

"Maker!" he hissed. "More."

Hawke reached up, undoing the ties to his pants.

"Hey you two," Tallis tried again lamely. "Uh. Get a … get a room! Heh.. heh.."

Anders placed a hand on Hawke's head, fingers twining in the dark hair. He kept his eyes on Tallis as he felt Hawke's hot breath against his prick. Tongue first, lapping at the precome, then down the shaft. It was almost routine, though more delicious every time Hawke sucked him off. The nervous anticipation, the weeks of trial and error, trying to find just exactly what Anders liked. Anders could have told him of course, but what would be the fun in that.

"Um. Guys? Mission?" Tallis tried once more.

"Take it," Anders urged, pulling on Hawke's hair. "All of it. I want to come down your throat."

Hawke growled but obeyed, hands on Anders' hips, holding him in place. In a well-practiced move, he took in Anders' length entirely.

"Ngh. Sweet Andraste," Anders groaned. He tipped his head back, sighing, and noticed Tallis was still looking at them.

_Shall I dispense with the elf?_

It was a voice he never heard when he was copulating with Hawke. Odd that Justice would show up here, now. In Orlais. In the middle of a fancy party. With his cock down his lover's throat.

"Yes," he whispered.

He blacked out for a moment and when he came to, Hawke was sucking on him in earnest. His orgasm built quickly and he gripped Hawke's hair, holding him in place as he came, as he wished, down his throat. Hawke stood up, wiping his mouth with the back of his fingerless leather glove, a frown on his face. He turned around.

"Oh shit."

Anders looked behind him. On the ground, in a twisted, gnarled mess of ash and bone was the burned corpse of an annoying elf. Hawke looked back at Anders, dumbstruck. Anders let out a feeble laugh.

"She always did think she was hot stuff."


	3. Anders/M!Hawke, past Anders/Cullen - PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/M!Hawke, Anders/Cullen  
> Rating: PG
> 
> innuendo!

"I really don't like being here," Anders said as the water sloshed against the side of the boat.

The Gallows loomed ahead, blocking the sun as they approached. Behind them, the Kirkwall docks grew smaller, and Anders looked wistfully at them.

"We'll only be a few minutes," Hawke said, tying off the line. Buying the small ferry boat was the best investment he could've made, considering how many trips he found himself taking across the bay. "I just need to talk to Thrask."

"You couldn't… I don't know, send him a letter? Smoke signals? Carrier pigeon?" Anders asked, but accepted the proffered hand. He stumbled a bit, climbing onto the stone pier.

Hawke caught him, arms wrapped around him, and smiled. Anders felt his knees quiver. Damn that man. Damn him and his wanting to be so helpful. Damn his overarching sweetness. And damn his prowess in bed.

Wait, strike that, Anders thought. That was the best part. Sighing, reluctantly he followed Hawke up the steps, under the iron gate. Hawke lifted a hand in greeting to Thrask, who acknowledged him with a nod from across the courtyard. Anders tuned out their conversation, looking around. He frowned at the increased number of Tranquils, but something else caught his eye.

"Anders?" Hawke asked, interrupting his thoughts.

Apparently it had only been a brief exchange of words he'd needed with him. Carrier pigeon would've worked, Anders maintained. But he took a step back, then another. Someone he recognized, but how? When had he arrived in Kirkwall?

"Oh, hello Cullen!" Hawke said with a wave.

Knight-Captain Cullen turned, stopping mid-stride, and changed direction. He opened his mouth to greet Hawke when the smile fell from his face upon seeing Anders. "Champion," he said, tentatively.

Hawke looked from him to Anders, then back to Cullen. "You two know each other? I suppose it was inevitable, considering how much good work I do for the city, and Anders being kind enough to stay by my side during the day and warm my bed at night."

Anders shot him a look. As touched as he was that Hawke didn't seem to care what other people thought, his, 'Let them come!' attitude was unnerving to someone who'd spent years running _away_ from danger.

"Oh," said Cullen, "that's…"

"He was a Templar at the Ferelden Circle," Anders snapped. He enjoyed how Cullen turned red, either in embarrassment or anger, no doubt remembering their past. "Got that little problem fixed?"

"I… have to go," Cullen said. "It wasgoodtoseeyouChampion," he managed before turning quickly and hurrying up the steps.

Hawke looked at Anders, who was smirking with a smug satisfaction. "Mind explaining?"

"Let's just say he had a little trouble keeping proper hold on his sword," Anders said bitterly.

Hawke glanced back up to where Cullen retreated, then back to Anders, an amused grin on his face. "Really? Should I be jealous?"

"What? Oh, Maker no," Anders said, taking Hawke's hand and pulling him back toward the boat. "You've got your sword well under control."

"Maybe a little fencing practice tonight then?" Hawke said eagerly.

Anders grinned. "Wouldn't want you getting rusty."

The boat trip back to the docks couldn't be over with fast enough.


	4. Anders/M!Hawke - NC-17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/M!Hawke  
> Rating: NC-17
> 
> for Vee who wanted quick and dirty up against a wall

"So I thought when we got back to Kirkwall…" Anders started.

But Hawke wasn't listening. They'd spent the entire afternoon traipsing about the Orlesian countryside and the evening listening to Duke Prosper waffle on about Maker knew what. Anders wasn't helping the matters, choosing to leave his coat off and hair loose at dinner. Then that fop – that Anitvan – had made eyes at him all night. It incensed Hawke. Anders was his.

The door to the guest room shut and Hawke could no longer take it. He grabbed Anders by the shoulders and shoved him against the wall. Briefly he saw Anders' surprised look before he kissed him hard. Anders squirmed but didn't push him away, opening his mouth and surrendering under the frenzied assault.

Hawke kept him pinned to the wall with his hips, grinding, thrusting. Anders moaned.

"Hawke… Garrett, please, wait…"

But Hawke refused to wait. He pulled back only to turn Anders around and push him against the stone again, face first. Gripping both his lover's wrists in one hand, he reached around, yanking at the ties to his pants. Shoving his hand inside, he stroked him quickly, pleased that Anders was already hard, already needy.

"Garrett… ngh.. just hang on…"

Hawke grabbed the edge of Anders' pants and smalls and dragged them over his hips. "No," he growled.

He undid his own pants, breaking the ties in his haste. Pulling Anders' hips toward him, he rubbed against him dry, hissing as Anders yelped.

"Spell," Hawke ordered. "Fuck. Anders. Now."

A whispered word and Hawke felt the slippery grease in his palm. He coated his cock and released Anders wrists to grab his hips. A blue wash of healing energy cascaded over both of them as Hawke pushed in without preamble.

"HolybrideoftheMaker!" Anders cried, grabbing at the wall, trying to steady himself.

Anders leaned forward, bracing himself as Hawke thrust into him. He moved quickly, brutally, bruising Anders' hips in his crushing grip. He'd waited too long for this, wanted this far too much.

And it was over far too quickly.

Being teased and tormented all day, he'd been wound tightly and like a spring he uncoiled, releasing with a cry. He paused, panting, as Anders moved back against him, still hard. Hawke pulled out.

"Ngh," Anders whined.

Hawke dropped to his knees, still holding his hips, and leaned forward.

"Oh fuck!" Anders swore, hips spasming as Hawke licked away the come. "Fuck!" He shoved back against Hawke's face.

Hawke thrust his tongue inside his lover's ass, tasting the salt of his semen and the tang of the lubrication. Above him, Anders was begging, the words spilling from his mouth in a tumble of incoherent ramblings. Hawke reached up to grip his cock, and under the dual assault of mouth and fingers, Anders finally came. He collapsed almost immediately, falling back into Hawke's lap, his pants a tangle around his ankles.

Hawke reached up, brushing his hair from his sweaty forehead. Anders rolled his gaze to meet his, eyes slightly unfocused.

"Ngh?"

"Indeed," Hawke agreed. "And when I catch my breath, round two."

"In the bed," Anders pleaded.

Hawke laughed. "Maybe."


	5. Anders/Justice - NC-17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/Justice  
> Rating: NC-17
> 
> slight dub-con, auto-erotic asphyxiation

**What are you doing?**

Anders scowled as he dipped the quill in the inkpot again.

"Writing down my arguments."

**Why?**

"I would have thought you, of all people would appreciate me taking the time to put to paper a cohesive list of why people should support mages."

**You're doing it for him.**

"So? Does it matter? If I can convince him, then I can convince anyone."

His hand stopped, forced by Justice. He tried to wrench it back, but Justice was too powerful. Anders licked his lips and tried to lift his fist.

"Let me go, Justice."

**Why are you doing this for him and not for the mages?**

Anders clenched his jaw. He hadn't often regretted allowing Justice into his body, but the spirit had decided that he wasn't going to be just a silent passenger. It helped in certain situations; Justice was an exceptional fighter and moved quickly, providing him with untold power against Templars and made running away a lot easier. But he was a harsh taskmaster.

"Just let it go."

**I cannot.**

And Anders was forced from the desk, into the small partitioned alcove where his cot and ratty mattress was.

"What are you doing?" Anders hissed.

**Giving you want you want.**

"I want you to leave me alone so that I can pen my arguments. Justice!"

Justice had started to unbutton his coat. Anders panicked slightly now as his hands continued to move on their own, parting the fabric, leaving him in a threadbare tunic and trousers.

**You think about him too often. He's a Templar pawn, a sympathizer. He believes the Chantry is right to lock mages up.**

"He…"

His hands moved up, under the tunic, burning hot against his skin. He cried out as Justice harshly pinched a nipple, then flicked it.

**You thought about doing this with him. Your mind is constantly on him.**

"I…" Anders choked back another cry as Justice slid his hand down over his stomach, fingernails scraping over his abdomen. "I don't know why," he whispered. "Justice, please."

**I will help you focus, Anders. And when we are done, you will never think of him again.**

Anders breath caught as he squeezed himself through the thin trousers. Justice took pity on him and he was allowed to sink to the mattress, laying back, completely at his mercy.

"Justice… let me…"

**He wishes to isolate you. To make you forget your cause.**

"Nngh… No…"

One hand moved the tunic up while the others unlaced his trousers. He groaned as his fingers wrapped around his shaft, thumb moving up over the head.

**If I remember, this is what you like.**

Anders gasped for breath. It was better than his own hand, even though it was his own hand. Justice left his hips free to thrust, but he was powerless to control the speed of his hand, moving agonizingly slowly now.

**Together, Anders, we will bring the mages their freedom, like we discussed.**

"Yes… yes, okay," Anders whimpered.

His left hand brushed a nipple and he moaned. Justice did not stop there, and his eyes widened in terror as his fingers gripped his throat.

"Justice," he managed.

His left hand closed slowly around his windpipe even as his right sped up. Anders tried to struggle, but he was paralyzed now, completely in Justice's thrall.

**We must trust one another implicitly to make this work.**

_Yes._

Anders could no longer speak, trying to gasp for breath. The hand around his cock squeezed and stroked faster. Dots swam in front of his eyes as his vision blurred. Jolts of electricity crackled against his skin. His lungs burned, screaming for air even as his stomach tightened, orgasm imminent. In a second before he passed out, Justice released his throat.

He cried out, hips snapping forward as Justice gave one last vicious stroke and he came hard, eyes shut tightly. When he opened them, he was still breathing heavily, lungs aching, throat sore, hand and stomach covered in come. He'd never experienced an orgasm as powerful as that, not even with a skilled partner. And it had all been Justice.

"Justice."

Silence.

Anders winced, sitting up slowly. He was in control again. Reaching for a cloth, he wiped himself off, fixing his pants and shirt, but left his coat off. It was too hot, he was sweating in the wake of that… 

What was that?

Masturbation? Handjob?

**Focus.**

Anders let out a shaky laugh and returned to his desk. He healed his bruised throat before crumpling the first piece of paper he'd been working on, and started writing out a copy of his manifesto.


	6. Anders/Karl - PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/Karl  
> Rating: PG
> 
> for Savvi, who asked for an Anders/Karl where Karl stopped the templars from killing Anders during his Harrowing. warning for implied beating/torture

Anders scowled as he pressed a wash of healing magic into the angry lashes on his lover's back. Karl was an enchanter, a teacher, much more valued than just a mage like himself. And until recently, he'd only been an apprentice. Enchanters like Karl taught other mages how not to blow themselves or others up. If there were lashings to take, it should have been his burden to bear. But it was Karl's own stupid sense of nobility that put him in the line of fire in the first place. And though Anders was angry with him, he could hardly blame Karl.

After all, the man had saved his life when the templars wanted to behead him for taking too long during his Harrowing.

"There," he said, letting his fingertips run down his back. "You can put your shirt on now. Though I'd prefer it if you didn't."

Karl sat up, stretching, bones popping as he did so. Though only a few years older than Anders, strands of grey were already starting to mix with his light brown hair. Anders allowed himself to be pulled into an embrace and kissed.

"There won't be a next time," Anders sighed, settling against him. "But next time, don't provoke the templars."

Karl kissed his temple, hugging him tightly. "But love, if I let them take you, who would I get to scold for trying to run away from the tower on a near monthly basis?"

Anders let out a _hmph_ as Karl pulled the covers up over them, extinguishing the oil lamp. He laid his head against his lover's chest, listening to his heartbeat, fingers resting against his side. Karl's hand slowly rubbed his back, and he fell asleep, slightly restless with thoughts of injustice in the Circle.


	7. Carver, Hawke - PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Anders/Hawke (if you squint)  
> Rating: PG
> 
> Carver and his brother have a confrontation about Carver joining the templars.

Carver's back hit the wall forcefully, nearly knocking the wind from him. He ducked the oncoming fist aimed at his face and felt a surge of victory as his brother cracked it against the stone. A wash of blue light quickly lit the area. Maker damn him! It wasn't fair that he could fight _and_ use magic! He'd stood in place too long though and Garrett tackled him around the waist. They landed hard together on the thin carpet. Carver knew that coming home was a bad idea. He'd only wanted to see Mother and now-

"Traitor!" Garrett yelled.

Carver accepted the punch to his cheek, head snapping to the side, stars exploding in his vision. His decision to join the templars hadn't been an easy one. But when he'd been left behind on the expedition he'd helped to plan, helped gather the coin for… He put his hands up to defend himself, grabbing his brother's wrists as they struggled for dominance. He didn't know why he bothered; he was under Garrett now and all their fights eventually ended this way, usually with their father having to haul him off. Then Malcolm would give him - Carver, not Garrett - that look. The look that clearly stated how disappointed he was.

"Why? Just! Why?" Garrett growled, shoving him away.

Carver looked up, panting. He felt the stinging on his cheek, but couldn't feel blood. Garrett must not have hit him that hard.

"I need to make my own way. Have to be my own man."

"So you joined the very order that's trying to hunt me down? That would see me in chains?"

Carver held his gaze, then dropped his eyes. Garrett shifted, standing up and stalking to the window. Carver leaned up on his elbows. "Brother, it's not-"

"Get out."

"Garrett-"

"Out."

He didn't yell, but Carver knew the tone. In that instant, he was reminded horribly of their father. It was years of disappointment. Of, _Why can't you be more like your brother?_ He stood, brushing himself off. The door opened a crack and Carver looked up, expecting their mother to see what the shouting had been about. Instead, he saw a familiar set of robes and ruffled blond hair. Anders stepped in, looking from Carver with a livid glare, then to Garrett, his expression softening. He stepped in and crossed the room, putting a hand on Garrett's shoulder.

Carver sighed and slipped through the door, catching a backwards glimpse. Anders had his arms around his brother, who'd turned into the embrace. He watched for a moment. Was his brother… crying? No. Garrett didn't cry. But his shoulders were heaving as if he were breathing heavily, and he clung to the other mage tightly as Anders stroked his hair, whispering words Carver couldn't – and didn't want to – hear. Angry, he left. 

It wasn't fair. He should've felt some small victory in his brother's upset. He should be pleased that he'd angered him in such a way. But as he made his way through Hightown back to the Gallows, he wondered if he hadn't just made the biggest mistake of his life.


	8. Hawke, Anders - PG-13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: None  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Notes: Vee proposed this scene and it wouldn't leave my head.
> 
> Hawke can solve any problem! Except maybe this one...

"Oh please," Varric said over the uproarious laughter. "Hawke, you would respond to a 'Lost Dog' poster just to make someone happy!"

"He did!" Merrill squeaked, her face red from giggling, eyes scrunched up as she remembered. "Taffy, remember?"

"Vicious little beast," Isabela recalled. "Nipped my ankle three times."

Hawke sighed. "And what's wrong with saving the world? What's wrong with trying to make Kirkwall a better place for everyone?"

"Nothing, nothing," Varric conceded. "All I'm saying is that you can't help everyone all the time."

"I can and I will," Hawke said, slapping a hand on the table. He might have been a bit drunk. "I will solve the problems of the next person who walks through that door," he said, turning and pointing to the door of the Hanged Man.

It opened a second later, and heads swiveled to see Anders walk through, his expression closed, mouth in a tight, thin line.

"You got your work cut out there for you, Hawke," said Varric, drinking deeply from his tankard. He gestured Norah over for a refill.

Hawke wouldn't be deterred. He hopped up from the table and crossed the room. Slinging an arm around the protesting mage's shoulders, he dragged him back. "Okay, Anders," he said, pushing him into a seat. "Varric and I have a bet. I'm going to solve all your problems. Let's start with one. Any one. You tell me and I'll solve it."

"Hawke, I don't think-" Anders started quietly, brow furrowed.

"Go on! I don't want to lose a bet."

"Go ahead, Blondie," Varric urged, while the girls laughed, nudging one another.

"All right," Anders said quietly. "I don't remember what happened last night. I blacked out. I think Justice took over. And this morning when I woke up…" The frown deepened, and he looked at Hawke, honey-amber eyes dull and lifeless. "My hands were covered in blood."

The tavern fell silent.


	9. Duncan/Flemeth - PG-13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Duncan/Flemeth  
> Rating: PG-13

Duncan should have known better. He was a Grey Warden, a seasoned rogue. The trap was so obvious. Of course, in hindsight, everything was obvious. But that didn't change that fact that he was now dangling from a rope by his ankle, the pretty young girl who'd lured him into the forest slowly approaching him with a feral look in her eye. She really was quite gorgeous – long black hair to her waist, pale creamy skin, wide, vivid purple eyes. But the staff she held indicated her apostate status and while Duncan had no issues with mages, apostate or otherwise, he'd rather not be at their mercy when they looked at him like a deer about to be gutted.

"You stupid fool," she laughed. "How easily you fall into our trap."

"That's enough, Romalyn," came another voice.

Fantastic, there was another one. This one was much older with grey hair, and radiating power that Duncan could feel from twenty feet away. If he was lucky they would kill him outright. Or maybe his company would find him. Then again, he wasn't so sure he wanted his fellows finding him like this. Best the mages kill him and dispose his body in a wholly non-humiliating fashion. Then his fellow Wardens would mourn him properly, instead of laughing their asses off at his stupidity.

"He is an idiot," Romalyn said. "All I did was shriek for help and he came running."

The woman stopped in front of Duncan, surveying him. Duncan swayed slightly, looking at her upside down, awaiting his fate.

"A Grey Warden," she said finally. "What a delightful catch. Romalyn, thank you for your services. But I'm afraid they're no longer necessary."

Romalyn frowned and stepped back, staff raised. The older woman flicked her hand and the staff disintegrated. Duncan blinked. Could mages even do that? This one had, but was she even a mage? How much trouble was he in? Would he be turned to dust like that? Would his body even be found?

He'd never been a stranger to pain and struggle. Growing up a Rivaini gutter rat on the streets of Orlais made him intimately familiar with hardships, and his travels with the Grey Wardens left him more knowledgeable about some things than most other people. But as the old woman performed some kind of… ritual, he found it difficult to watch. He shut his eyes against Romalyn's screams and when he opened them, the old woman was gone. Romalyn was on her hands and knees, slumped for the moment.

Then she laughed. And it sounded like the old woman's voice. She stood, and before his eyes her hair shortened, now reaching just to her chin, white streaking through the black. She closed her eyes and briefly they changed from violet to yellow and back again. Duncan gaped openly.

"What…?"

"Just a bit of old magic, my dear Grey Warden. Nothing for you to trouble yourself with."

She removed a knife and approached, and Duncan readied himself for the bite of the blade. But the woman simply swung it, slicing the rope that held him. Years of training to be quick and light on his feet kept him from embarrassing himself further and he landed cat-like in a crouch on the ground and straightened slowly. The woman barely came up to his chest. She laughed.

"Very good. I like them spry."

She snapped her fingers and the forest around him wavered like a reflection in a pond's surface that had been disturbed. Suddenly they were inside a warm hut, a fire crackling. The woman began to disrobe. Propriety kicked in over fear and Duncan turned his back on her. After all, if she had wanted him dead, she could have killed him easily just seconds ago.

"You are no stranger to this. Do not play the shy nobleman when you are neither shy nor noble."

The most disturbing thing was that she seemed to know him. His armor was polished and new, expensive. Probably the most expensive thing he'd ever owned aside from the blades which he carried. He'd learned noble mannerisms from his travels and could pass for one should the need arise for any kind of subterfuge. But she knew him, saw through the façade. He turned slowly and was unable to keep his eyes from traveling. Standing naked now, a delicate long-fingered hand on her cocked hip, she was smirking, unabashed. Duncan had been propositioned quite a few times in his youth, but never so brazenly. They were usually clothed when they made their intentions clear.

"We can do this with you willing or not," she said simply.

He'd seen her magic, seen what she could do. He would be stupid to resist. A night of pleasure or pain was inevitable. But was his death inevitable as well? If he was going to die tonight, he reasoned, starting to unbuckle his armor, it would be sated, naked, in the arms of a beautiful woman, crazed mage or not.

-

When he came to, he was – thank the Maker – fully clothed. His daggers lay at his side and he was on his back in a clearing that he recognized. An old campsite near the Southron Hills. Tracking his company from here shouldn't be a problem. He ached. But it was a delicious, sinful ache. The woman had him, then again, and twice more. Admittedly he'd needed help from a potion after the second time. His stamina on the battlefield was much higher than in the bedroom. But she hadn't laughed him, merely handed him a drink and he was dizzy with desire again.

Sitting up, shaking his head, he checked his pockets. Coin purse still intact, health poultices still there. In fact, he counted three extra. Well, that was something. He stood, staggering a bit and looked around. A few minutes later he found the trail and started after his company. Hopefully they hadn't missed him too much.


	10. Dorian/Inquisitor Trevelyan; mentions Anders/Hawke - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Varric reflects on his past times with Hawke, while reconciling his feelings and decisions for his new group of friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was only a matter of time before I wrote DA:I fic. Here's a preview of more to come in the future. Contains extremely mild spoilers for the Crestwood zone.

Dorian blinked in the harsh light of the sun. After hours of traversing the caves under Crestwood, he was half-blinded by the outside.

"Morning already? And here I've missed breakfast," he quipped.

Varric gave a half-hearted chuckle, but none of their party was much in the mood for jokes. 

The anchor on the Inquisitor's hand pulsed suddenly. It was all the warning they were given before a rift opened in the Veil, demons escaping the sickly green light. Exhausted, they took up the fight, Varric laying down suppressive fire to give the Inquisitor time to close the rift, while Solas kept a protective barrier around them both. Dorian, too worn from the previous night's excursion and the hardship of sleeping in a cave, dispensed with his usual flashy style and focused on keeping the rage demon from tearing their heads off.

The rift closed with an almost ear-shattering clamor, wisps of green veilfire wafting heavenward as they dissipated. Varric wiped a smear of blood from his forehead, waving Solas off with an irritated grunt.

"I'm fine. But where-"

Varric cut off, and Solas followed his gaze. "Inquisitor!"

Inquisitor Trevelyan took a step, stumbling from the effort of closing the rift, and collapsed to the grass. Dorian shoved between them quickly, a Tevene curse word slipping from his lips like a whispered prayer as he rushed to his beloved's side. He wrenched the leather helmet away, cradling his head delicately in his lap.

"Amatus?" he whispered.

The Inquisitor's eyes opened, clear blue as the sky above them now the rift in the lake was sealed. "I'm fine, Dorian," he said, though the words took some effort. He gripped Dorian's hand, squeezing with what little energy he had left, a small smile touching his lips.

"He is exhausted, and understandably so," Solas said, disapproval hanging heavily in his tone. He glanced around, slinging his staff to its spot on his back before hiking up the gradual hill to a small pond. Filling his water skin and plucking a few leaves from the abundant elfroot plants on the shore, he returned to the Inquisitor's side. "Here. Let him drink."

Varric shook his head, watching Dorian prop the Inquisitor's upper half while Solas tipped the water skin to his mouth. The Inquisitor drank thirstily, thin rivulets of clear, cool water running down his chin. The elfroot was next, shredded into small pieces. Dorian obstinately took the leaves from Solas to press them lovingly against the Inquisitor's lips. Varric frowned thoughtfully.

"Just like Hawke," he muttered to himself, a memory surfacing: Hawke lying on the ground, his head cradled in Anders' lap while Fenris knelt next to him, trying to get him to drink their last elfroot potion.

_Then again,_ Varric thought, _Hawke was a thousand times more stubborn than Trevelyan. Hated people taking care of him._

"Must be the noble blood," he mused.

"Varric, lend a hand," Dorian said. "What are you doing? Standing around and looking pretty is my job. We're setting camp."

Solas was already unpacking their tent. Varric shook himself from the daydream. This wasn't Kirkwall, and the Inquisitor wasn't Hawke. Further, he doubted either of his old friends would care to be compared to his new ones. Still, he thought, as he helped Solas with the tent, they all made for some damn good storytelling.


	11. Alexius/Felix - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Felix and Alexius come to a quiet agreement. For now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Vee's OTP for DA:I she asked me to write, and I wanted something quiet and sad the preludes the events of DA:I. Spoilers for In Hushed Whispers and Dorian's personal quest lines.
> 
> Warnings: Obviously Father/Son incest, angst

"Is he asleep?"

Felix shut the door behind him, frowning slightly. Dorian, a longtime family friend, made an impromptu trip to Minrathous to see him and his father. He'd been called home previously for some reason, a reason that obviously upset him. But Dorian wouldn't say why, simply asked if he could stay with them for a few days while he 'sorted some things out.'

"No. But the way he's been going, I wouldn't be surprised if he passed out at his desk. I'll check on him in a bit."

His father's study, large and opulent like the rest of their home, boasted a fireplace in front of which sat a plush, comfortable couch. His mother used to lounge there while his father worked on his papers at the desk in the corner. That desk was now neglected, traded in favor for the sideboard which housed several decanters of different spirits and wines. His father indulged more often than not, though Felix wished he wouldn't. He understood why though, and winced as the source of his father's drinking caused him severe aching in his limbs. His left knee gave out, shaking, and Alexius was there in a heartbeat at his side, guiding him to the couch.

"I can send Dorian back home," Alexius said carefully. "If it's too much for you to look after him."

Felix scowled, but didn't push his father away. "I'm fine."

"You are not. You're-"

"I want to help my friend, father," Felix said, an angry edge of determination in his tone. "You might have given up on Dorian, but I haven't. Just because he didn't want to join your stupid-" He cut off with a frustrated sigh. Fighting would get them nowhere. But with his father pulling away at the same time holding him close, and Dorian growing more and more agitated and aloof, it felt like every carefully stitched seam of his family's life was pulling and snapping apart.

"If you would only…" But Alexius trailed off, Felix recognizing the defeat in his tone.

"If this is the Maker's plan, Father, then you must let it happen. There's nothing you could have done for me or for Mother." He lifted a slightly shaking hand, the corruption in his blood making his limbs weak, and gently palmed his father's cheek, thumb brushing the stubble he found there. His father looked older than his years, worn down by stress and anger. Separating from Dorian nearly killed him, the rage that fueled him that day frightening their kitchen slaves, sending them scurrying away when the soup bowl shattered into pieces against the wall. "You will still have Dorian after all this is over. If," he added, bringing Alexius's eyes to his, "you help him. Find out why he's so upset. I'm certain it's something to do with his father."

Alexius slowly brought his hand to cover Felix's, smiling a little as he turned his head to press a kiss to his son's palm. "How did I ever come to have such a compassionate son?"

"You taught me well," Felix replied easily. "Just don't forget the lessons you impressed upon me. Not when others need you. You need to realize that I am going to die, Father."

"Don't-"

Felix didn't. Instead, he leaned forward, capturing Alexius's lips in a careful kiss. They hadn't been together like this since before the attack that left his mother dead and him with the sickness. He'd been careful of his father's grief, treating him as gently as Alexius treated him. And he wondered which of them was the more breakable. His father, so fond of Dorian, treating him as a second son, finally ending their relationship in a shouting match over – of all things – Felix himself. The guilt that weighed on him now alleviated when Alexius returned the kiss, his warm, weathered hand sliding up Felix's arm to cup him under the ear. Felix shivered when fingers brushed against the bristles of his closely cropped hair, and sighed happily when his father opened up to him.

They sat like that for a time, kissing, reexamining each other with careful touches that had so long been forgotten in lieu of sadness and grief. Frustration that kept them apart. And when Felix pulled back, standing, it was with a smile that Alexius returned. He entwined his fingers with his father's and led him from the study, checking the hall to make sure it was free of slaves and perhaps more importantly, of Dorian. While Dorian forgave a lot of quirks, Felix doubted he'd be so accepting of this. And he had no wish to upset his friend further.

And when the door of Alexius's bedroom closed, Felix leaned back into his father's embrace, he could almost forget that he was ill, and the feeling that something ominous was closing in on them. For a time, he could forget the world, and how much was on his shoulders, and remember that no matter what, his father loved him.


	12. Livius Erimond/Crassius Servis - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I desperately wanted Erimond/Servis slash and Vee obliged. This is her work, not mine, and any feedback will be passed on to her.
> 
> Entitled, "Taking Stock"

It started out with the little things. The little things, after all, were what kept a man interested. Invested, as Erimond was fond of saying. "Invested in one another. A sort of bonding, if you will. You invest time, money, and patience into a lover or a slave and in return, you get just about the same back. And more work if we're going the slave route."

"Uh huh."

"Are you listening to me?"

No, Servis wasn't. He wasn't a man obsessed with the minutiae of his job, paperwork not being a thing of his, but between black figures on a white sheet of paper and Erimond's lecturing, he vastly preferred the former. "Waiting for the point." There were only so many eights he could stare at before chasing them around the page.

"My point is that I'm missing a few items!" Erimond wasn't a fast mover, but in an instant he had ripped the sheet of paper out from Servis' fingers.

"Do not touch my work! I'm on a deadline!" Servis made to grab back his inventory list but Erimond kept moving his arm away from him.

"Not until you listen! I am missing things. Important things. Things that are prized heirlooms passed down from my great-great-great grandfather who is said to have walked through the Fade!" This wasn't entirely the truth. Erimond's family was great, that much was accurate, and his ancestors had done some very impressive things. Walking into the Fade physically was not one of them. Creating a five legged cat, however, was.

"I have no idea where your things went. Maybe you misplaced them in your mustache." Servis made a rude hand gesture that told Erimond exactly what he thought of said mustache.

Erimond ignored the gauche display. "You've been the only one in my chambers. You and the slaves and they're not foolish enough to take anything of mine!"

Servis suppressed an eyeroll. "So now I'm guilty because I did you the honor of sleeping with me? Suppose I'm guilty of _something_ , but I doubt it's theft."

"Of my heart, perhaps." With that, Erimond gave his best impression of looking hurt. He glanced at the paper Servis was trying to grab for still. "What is this?" The hurt look vanished immediately as he read through several lines. "You...this is.." he sputtered.

Servis took advantage of the distraction and ripped away the paper. "None of your business," he finished ever so helpfully.

"None of my-" Erimond's face went red. Servis thought it made him look marginally more attractive. "You have my grandmother's locket on there!"

"There are many lockets. Plenty of lockets. You see a locket, you immediately assume that it's yours. That's your problem, Livius. Too many assumptions."

"The engravement is noted! 'Livia, Bitch Between Sheets. Your Loving Son.'"

"You were named after an incestuous grandmother?"

"Then you admit it!" Erimond jabbed a finger into Servis' chest. "You keep taking my things! Why?"

Servis could tell him the truth. They were shiny. They were there. They looked expensive enough. He was bored. But he didn't think Erimond was after the truth, and if he told any of what he was thinking, he'd have to sit through yet another lecture.

So instead, he sucked in a breath. "Because every little thing reminds me of you."

That line shouldn't have worked. On anyone else, he may have gotten a disgusted noise or a slap or a 'yeah, right'. On Erimond? Quite the opposite.

"Oh. You.." Again, he was speechless. This time with less sputtering. "You don't need to take my things to get me to spend time with you. In fact," Livius sidled up closer to Servis, "how about you put away the paperwork and come with me for a spell?"

A double entendre. Servis enjoyed those. He supposed he could do a lot worse with his evening. Free sex was free sex. He owed it to himself for talking Erimond out of a rage and being able to continue with his transactions on the side.

Besides, he could put Erimond's mouth to better use.


	13. Anders, gen - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This one is a kink meme fill - http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/11381.html?thread=45052789#t45052789
> 
> Anders can't blow up the chantry because there's a cat in his lap.

Everything was in place.

He'd spent well over six years trying to get the Chantry to see the injustices of the Circle. Six long years trying to get Elthina to listen to him. He'd written so many versions of his manifesto, pleaded with Hawke, with their friends to listen, dealt with their derision and laughter, and in Fenris's case outright hatred. He tried to remain civil, to explain why mages needed their freedom, fought to keep Justice under control. Surely there had to be another avenue he hadn't exhausted yet. But no, six years of trying to find a peaceful solution to what he saw, and this was it. There could be no more compromise. The Chantry would only understand this.

He packed away his things, giving away what he no longer needed, for this would surely be his end. Hawke wouldn't let him live, and he, Anders, would pay the ultimate price for mage freedom. It was his cause, the only thing he had left inside him. He felt Justice pulling at his mind now, eager to make this happen. Finally, after several long years, they would have results one way or another. And if Anders ended up a martyr, at least Justice would be free of him, free of his anger. He could return to the Fade. They would both be free.

With a heavy sigh, he set his staff against the wall. The lanterns were doused, the doors locked for now. He hadn't taken a patient all day. For that, he felt guilty, but he needed to reserve his mana for the inevitable. It would happen tonight. He settled into a seat in the middle of the clinic, rubbing his eyes, mentally going over everything one last time, just to make sure he was truly ready to do this.

"Mrowr?"

He opened his eyes and looked down. A black and grey striped cat wound its way around his legs. He'd never seen this one before, and wondered how it managed to sneak into the clinic.

"Hello, pretty," he murmured, reaching down to stroke its head.

The cat trilled and leapt lightly into his lap. Anders drew the backs of his fingertips down the cat's body, laughing quietly as it raised its hindquarters into his touch. The cat turned in his lap three times before settling down, tucking its paws under its chin, tail flicking idly. Anders sighed, stroking the soft fur.

"Kitty, I need to get up. I have important things to do."

The cat purred, but didn't stir.

"Alright," Anders said, leaning back, gently petting the cat. "After you have a good sleep."

After all, he could delay his plans for just a little while longer.


	14. Anders/Alrik, Anders/Carver, non-con, Anders/Hawke, h/c - NC-17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/Alrik, Anders/Carver, Anders/Hawke  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Warning: non-con, revenge, implied suicide, hurt/comfort

Anders didn't scream, didn't give Alrik the satisfaction as the templar shoved inside him, tearing him open. He clawed at the table, fingernails scraping against the polished wood. Instinctively he tried to cast the spell that would take away the pain, but the cleansing Alrik cast earlier had cut him off from his mana pool. He knew the spell was there, but no matter how hard he reached for it, he couldn't grab it.

Alrik thrust again, gauntlets digging into his hips, bruising them painfully. He pulled out and came, hot seed against Anders' thighs mixing with the blood. Alrik spat on the ground, stepping back, seemingly satisfied with his work.

Anders' legs quivered and he could no longer hold on, slumping to the floor. The sound of rustling cloth and armor behind him, a door opening.

"Clean him up and get him out of here," Alrik said in his cold, steady voice.

"Yes, sir."

-

Carver carefully tended to Anders in the templars' bathing chamber. He'd never seen the man so passive, so quiet. Alrik promised him a promotion, a raise, if Carver stayed quiet. While Carver didn't agree with what he did, he knew staying quiet was the only way to not get himself kicked from the Order, or worse, hanged in the square for his insubordination. He cleaned the blood and semen from Anders, washing away the sweat, fixing the wounds that he could.

"You're quiet."

Anders lifted his head, amber eyes dull and lifeless now. Carver frowned. He knew what his brother saw in him. Anders was… breathtakingly gorgeous. He thought maybe he would've had a chance with him, but then Garrett had to go and take that too. Well, not anymore. Carver would have a go at his brother's favorite toy. Ser Alrik wouldn't care. He gripped Anders' chin, pleased when the mage didn't pull away, and kissed him roughly.

A few minutes later and he was out of his uniform, sliding into the bath over top of him. And if Garrett ever found out, Ser Alrik would see to it that Carver was kept safe.

-

"Anders? I've been looking for you. What-"

Hawke stopped on the threshold of the clinic. Anders hadn't come back to stay the night here in years, not since he'd convinced him to move in. But there was something more. Anders looked up from his desk where he'd been hunched over, writing by the light of a fading candle. As Hawke approached, he saw the haunted look in his eye, the tears rolling down his cheeks. He hurried to him, kneeling, pulling him into his arms.

"What is it, Anders? Talk to me, please," he begged.

Anders gripped him tightly, shaking, ink-stained fingers twisting in his tunic. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "I'm sorry."

-

The funeral was a somber affair. Hawke told Anders he didn't need to go. Knight-Captain Cullen had personally hand delivered the notice of Carver's death, with many condolences. Found with a broken neck, thought to have committed suicide leaping from his room in the Gallows to the rocks below. 

They dressed him in his templar uniform, arms crossed over his chest. He looked so peaceful lying on the funeral pyre. Magic and makeup fixed the damage done and he merely seemed like he was sleeping. Hawke felt something painful twisting inside him. Whatever Carver was, he was still his brother. Then he looked to Anders, standing next to him, face impassive, and the rage he felt at what Carver had done, what he'd allowed to happen, came rushing back.

He reached over, took Anders' hand. Anders looked down at their entwined fingers, then up at Hawke.

"Let's go home," Hawke whispered.

-

Meredith didn't scream when she entered her office, though the severed head dripping blood on her paperwork gave her pause. Ser Alrik's bright blue eyes glaring, stared up at her. She waved aside a fly, covering her nose and mouth against the smell. Carved into his forehead in jagged letters was one word:

RAPIST

Far above, in a fancy estate in Hightown, Hawke was cleaning off his knives. Anders emerged from the bathroom, wrapped snugly in his lover's robe.

"Dinner tonight?" Hawke asked. "Orana's making veal cutlets."

"I'd like that."

Hawke set aside his things and crossed the room, pulling Anders into a tight, protective hug. He kissed him gently. "I love you."

Anders almost smiled. "I love you too."


	15. Fenris, gen - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vee prompted this one line drabble:
> 
> "Golly!" Fenris said.
> 
> What you're about to read is pure crack, inspired by a scene in Saints Row IV, lack of caffeine and sheer exhaustion.

The canned laughter filled his ears. He opened his eyes to see a large window with irritatingly bright yellow curtains. His limbs moved on their own accord and he pulled them back. Outside… that wasn't Kirkwall. Where in the bloody flames was he? This wasn't his manor. Horseless carriages outside? They looked like giant chunks of metal… how…

"Where am I?"

At least that's what he'd meant to say. What came out was: "Maker's breath, what a BEE-YOU-TEE-FUL morning!"

More of the canned laughter. He looked around for the source, but saw nothing out of the ordinary. This must be a dream. There was no other explanation. He was caught in some type of weird Fade dream or perhaps a ritual. Had Danarius found him? Was he being controlled by a demon? But no, Hawke had helped him kill Danarius just last month. He was finally starting to learn how to move past this. Confused, he started to walk, everything feeling so absolutely surreal.

That was when he noticed his arms. They were swaying. More than that, he seemed to be throwing them out with gusto every step he took. And every step there was a bounce. And he appeared to be missing his armor and gauntlets. His leggings were gone, a weird pair of khaki colored trousers, brown flat shoes. A shirt that was made of linen and some type of sweater? The diamond pattern was nauseating and he was fairly sure he would have burnt the entire outfit should it have found its way into his wardrobe.

Impulsively as he reached the top of the stairs, he hopped up onto the bannister. Unable to stop himself, he turned to the wall, winked, and heard the laughter again. Where the _fuck_ was that coming from? Were there people inside the walls, watching him? Before he could think about it any further, he slid down the bannister, scowling. Then his face contorted again uncomfortably into a smile and he was about to turn down the hall when the front door opened.

"Hawke!"

But it was not the tall, proud warrior he knew. He was dressed similarly, weird pants and sweater, wearing a pair of spectacles and grinning stupidly. He paused, hand on the doorknob as the people who were laughing now broke out into wild applause. Hawke's grin faded into a modest smile.

"Howdy neighbor!"

More laughter.

Fenris wanted to punch those people in the face, wherever they were.

"Just thought I'd grab your paper for you. You know how your wife always gets upset if you leave it out and the sprinklers get it all wet!"

More laughter. Fenris really hoped this was a horrible nightmare. He took the paper automatically.

"I think the wife's making pancakes, Hawke! Why don't you join us?" Fenris said, unable to stop his mouth from moving.

"Nah, I gotta get to the office early. You know how old mean Mr. Orsino is. Have a splendiferous day, neighbor!" Hawke waved and left, shutting the door.

Hoping to the Maker, the Creators, even the Paragons of Orzammar that this would be over soon, Fenris continued his ridiculous walk into the kitchen. The smell of breakfast hit him, and despite his ever increasing annoyance, it _did_ smell good.

"Good morning, dear!" he said, sitting at the table, his back to the person who was – presumably – his wife (and how in the Void did that ever happen?).

A very large stack of what he assumed were pancakes were placed on the plate in front of him, and someone leaned down to kiss the top of his head.

"Good morning, love! Enjoy your breakfast! And make sure you're not late for work today!"

Fenris froze. He knew that voice. This was worse than a nightmare. This was…

He looked up to see Anders' smiling face, his lips painted with rouge, his hair in curls around his face, and he was wearing a flowery printed apron over a pale green dress. He turned back to the wall, facing the non-existent people, a look of wide-eye and comical horror plastered on his face.

"Golly!" Fenris said, and woke up.


	16. Alexius, Felix, gen - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vee was not feeling well so a little Alexius and Felix h/c to cheer her up.

Felix clutched his stomach, the sharp stabbing pain making it difficult to breathe. He'd woken up feeling better than he had in ages, the potions the healers gave him the night before making it easier to sleep. But he'd felt tired in the late afternoon and excused himself from activities, apologizing to Dorian who brushed it off, looking at him in concern. He hated that, above all else. The pity, the worry. He never wanted his family and friends to see him as weak or a burden. And while it wasn't his fault, the Taint in his blood wasn't going to simply vanish.

He'd written a will and saw the lawyer on his own, not wanting to upset his father. Not that he had much to will, not having a full inheritance until his father died. And that was the real reason he was terrified of death. Not the dying part. Everyone died at some point. But to leave his father alone? He'd not taken the news of Felix's illness well. So Felix made Dorian promise him that he would look after his father. Their father, really, as Dorian was so often a fixture in the Alexius household, he was family.

A knock on the door, and he tried to sit up, but couldn't. It was simply too much effort. "Come in," he managed.

His father entered, carrying a small tray, and shut the door behind him. Felix smiled weakly, trying to be brave, but the pain today was worse than usual. He wondered how long he had, but the healers couldn't even say. Tomorrow? A few weeks? A few months? There was no telling. And the only "cure" he was told, was to become a Grey Warden. It was tempting, but he couldn't imagine that life for himself. Of course he could just join and defect, but how would that look? Scion of House Alexius shirking his duties. Plus – and he'd been told this in private by a Warden who was well-paid for her silence – he might not survive the Joining anyway. To give up whatever little time he had left? He couldn't do that.

Alexius set the tray down on the nightstand and sat next to him, feeling his forehead. "You're feverish. You haven't eaten since breakfast."

"I'm sorry, Father, I don't mean to worry you-"

"Hush, boy. I'm not admonishing you."

"You shouldn't have to… it's fine. Let a servant-"

But Alexius was already removing the lid to the tray. A bowl of soup and some soft bread to help settle his stomach. "I am your father. It's my duty to take care of you. Not a servant's. Come."

Felix let his father sit him up, propping pillows around him. He lifted his hand for the spoon, but was too weak, and allowed his father to feed him like a child. He needed this, Felix realized. They both knew he was going to die, but his father needed to feel as if he was doing something. Helpless, he understood, was not a state of being that Gereon Alexius took well to.

And if he could ease his father's worry just a little, take just a bit more of the burden of his own death from him, he would.


	17. Leandra, Anders - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: None, though Anders/Hawke if you squint  
> Rating: G
> 
> for Vee, who wanted Leandra in the Rose, trying to hire Anders, whom she believes is a whore

With her son gone all hours of the day, Leandra found the running of the estate to be a bit lonely. Though she never intended on ending up at the Blooming Rose, one late evening found her there, cupping a mug of spiced rum. Kirkwall wasn't as cold as Ferelden, though she always liked the city best in the winter. However, it made her lonely for the company of her family. Malcolm long gone, and the twins… well, she didn't want to think on the fate that had befallen her two youngest. Garrett kept himself busy enough and she though he'd found a lover. More was the pity that he was such an independent spirit like his father. She would have liked him to marry nobility and finally settle down. Give her grandchildren. Something to fill the empty halls.

But now that she was out at the brothel she thought perhaps she could find something to occupy her mind, if not her lonesome heart. But perhaps she was just too old. The elves all seemed much too young for her, eager and willing. There was a dwarf and while she was intrigued, he just wasn't to her taste. If she was truthful with herself, she wanted someone younger sure, but someone who was willing to take things slowly, perhaps a night of dancing and romance rather than sex. Not that she didn't want sex, of course, but that would come later.

A familiar face in the slightly crowded room caught her eye. The mage that Garrett invited over for dinner, a man with whom he'd spent quite a bit of time. But why would he be here? Unless… _Oh Maker's breath,_ she thought. _I am so foolish._ Of course the man was a whore. How could she have been so blind? The way Garrett looked at him, their little touches at dinner. He'd been paying him for his time. Her poor son. He could've had anyone and yet he must've had a reason for hiring this man to play the consort. Still, he was young and handsome, and looked as if he could fulfill the night she'd been hoping for. Leaving her drink, she approached him, bold now as she ever had been in her younger years.

"Pardon, serah."

He turned, eyes widening as he recognized her. "Mrs. Hawke."

"Please, dear, call me Leandra."

He nodded, wiping his hands on his coat, which she assumed must've been part of his costume. He was never without it. "I haven't seen Hawke. Er, Garrett," he corrected. "Not for a while now."

"I hardly mind that," she said, and reached out, touching his arm. She wasn't sure how this worked. Did she pay him now? After? Did the coin go to Madame Lusine first? "How much would it be to procure your services for an evening?" Blunt was best, she decided. "Light intimacy. Perhaps a dance and a drink, if that's makes a difference."

Confusion on his face a moment, then panic. "I'm… sorry?"

"For your company. For your time, I mean. I'm not interested in anything you may get up to with my son behind closed doors, but your company for the evening, love. How much?"

He pulled away. "I… I have to go."

She frowned, but dropped her hand from his arm, and watched him positively flee. Were whores exclusive? Did Garrett pay him not to entertain others? If that was the case, then why was he here?

_Oh well,_ she thought, and returned to her drink. _Perhaps I'll ask Garrett to let him go for an evening next I see him._


	18. Anders/Hawke - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/Hawke  
> Rating: G
> 
> For Vee, entitled "Cinders". She wanted: "So Anders writes a ton of manifestos. Leaves 'em around Hawke's house. One day, Fenris visits. Tosses the latest manifesto into the fire. Anders finds it in the fireplace." Hurt/comfort

"Hawke, have you seen my…"

Anders frowned, looking around the desk, shuffling papers. Hawke's memoirs took up a large portion of the oak surface, and he carefully folded the pages into the journal. He picked up a scrap of paper with a crudely drawn doodle of himself and Hawke in the middle of a lewd act, and had to smile a little. His lover was a bit single-minded when it came to certain things. Not that Anders minded. They'd been together only a few short weeks, but he felt more alive than he had in a long time. Hawke inspired him. And he was currently searching for the fruits of his inspiration now.

"Hm?" Hawke asked, poking his head in the bedroom. His mabari, Filet, poked his head in right after, making a similar, yet altogether more doggy, sound of interest.

"The latest pages of my manifesto. I wrote just last week."

Hawke looked down at his dog. "Filet?"

Filet barked and wagged his tail happily. Anders didn't know much about dogs, but if Filet had eaten them, no doubt he would have whined and backed away. It had happened in the past.

"Sorry, love, haven't seen them. Maybe in the library?"

Anders frowned. "All right."

"We're going out for a bit. You need anything?"

Anders shook his head, still distracted and more than a bit flustered. "No. Have a good run."

Hawke clicked his tongue. "C'mon, boy."

Anders stood alone in the room for a few minutes, at a bit of a loss. He sighed and headed downstairs, hopping the last couple of steps before turning into the library. Fifteen minutes later and he was no closer to finding his latest work than before. He meandered out of the library, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Had Hawke misplaced it? Had Orana perhaps cleaned up and put it somewhere? Or had he left it in his clinic, mistakenly thinking he brought it up from Darktown?

"Wait."

He crossed the room to the fireplace, knelt down, and carefully pulled a sheaf from the ashes. It was blackened around the edge, but he could clearly read half a sentence.

_It is no sin of the Maker to want to live as a free man-_

His manifesto. But why was it in the fireplace? Had Hawke… No. But… He sat back on the hearth, frowning, wondering, and anxious. He would need to speak to Hawke when he returned home.

-

Hawke returned an hour later, sweaty and jovial, and while Anders hated to ruin his lover's good mood, he wanted an answer. He sat at the dining room table, the remains of his manifesto spread out in front of him. Nearly all of it was unsalvageable. Only a few pieces were legible. It was several hours' worth of work, and he'd rewrite it, but first he needed to know why, and if he should pack his things and return to his clinic.

"Anders?" Hawke asked, stepping into the darkened dining room.

A flash of flame from his fingertips lit the candles, and Anders looked up. He hadn't cried. His grief over the lost pages wasn't so deep, and his annoyance and trepidation took precedence. "Hawke."

"…Love, what is it?"

Anders gestured at the debris in front of him. 

Frowning, Hawke approached and picked up a piece, lips moving as he read the bit he could see. His eyes widened. "Is this-?"

"Yes. Why was it in the hall fireplace?"

"I don't know."

Anders' stomach clenched, and he felt sick. He wanted to believe Hawke. They both agreed that mages shouldn't be locked up, but Hawke wasn't as vocal as he was, and Anders had… doubts about his ferventness. Not that this was Hawke's burden at all. "No idea?"

Hawke scowled. "Anders, why would I know why your work was in the fire? Did you throw it away in a fit of anger?"

Anders bit the inside of his cheek, trying to tamp down the hurt. "No," he said evenly. "I did not."

"…I'm sorry."

And he was. Anders saw it in his slumped shoulders and sad expression. Hawke wasn't to blame here. "It's… it's fine. I'll just rewrite it."

"Maybe-" Hawke began, and cut off quickly. "Never mind."

"No, what?" Anders asked, curious now.

"It's just… Well. Fenris came over the other day and it was cold. I told him to throw some of the spoiled pages in the fire and-"

Anders stood so fast, his chair tipped precariously in his haste. "You let him into our bedroom?"

"Anders, relax. We were practicing his reading as always," he reminded him. "And he was cold."

"I bet." Anders, though slightly jealous that Hawke's time was taken up for a few hours a week by Fenris – someone who insulted him at every turn, someone whose views were so fundamentally different than his own – he was not one to deny education to anyone. Bigoted elves included.

"I'm sure it was a misunderstanding."

"Right."

"Anders, he can barely read his own name. I really don't think-" Hawke broke off again, sighing, and crossed the room, gently coaxing Anders into his arms. "I'll help you write it again."

Anders stiffened as Hawke wrapped his arms around him. It wasn't Hawke's fault. And as much as he wanted to blame it on Fenris, Hawke was likely right. Still. "Fine."

Hawke pressed a kiss to his forehead. "All right?"

"Not really," Anders sighed. "But it's just that they'd been so… good."

"And the new ones will be better," Hawke said, tilting his chin up and kissing him gently. "Come on. Come have a bath with me, then we can write together."

Anders sighed again, but felt better for the comfort, and followed Hawke out. "Promise me one thing?"

"Anything, love."

He wondered if he had the right to ask, and decided to anyway. "I'd feel more comfortable if he wasn't allowed in our bedroom."

Perhaps it was the sadness over losing the pages, or maybe Hawke realized just how much it meant to Anders that they had something that was solely _theirs_. Whatever it was, he pulled him close once more, kissed him, and whispered, "I promise."

Anders exhaled, and allowed Hawke to pull him toward the washroom. Hawke was much more understanding than he'd ever thought he would be. He only hoped that in the months to come, Hawke would be as forgiving as well.


	19. Hawke, Sebastian - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> No pairing
> 
> Complete crack again from Vee. I'm not even sorry. Neither is she.

"No I have not been drinking!" Sebastian insisted, his ruddy complexion darkening as he tried to explain. Hawke, for all his kindness, was trying not to laugh in his face. Of course Sebastian couldn't quite blame him. It was ridiculous. But it was true.

"Did you tell anyone else?" Hawke asked, trying to keep his eyes up on Sebastian's face, and failing as he sneaked a peak southward.

"No. I thought… you are well-versed in such things, so I thought perhaps you would be willing to help me – Hawke, please stop laughing!"

Hawke burst into a fit of very unmanly giggles. "What makes you think I know anything about…" He waved his hand in the direction of Sebastian's nether regions.

"Magic," Sebastian clarified. "With you being an apostate."

Hawke stopped laughing, his expression immediately serious. "Don't go there."

Sebastian pursed his lips. "I meant no offense, of course. And it was not a threat. Simply that I wanted to know if you had any experience."

"Sebastian, no, I can't say I have. Can you get it to…"

"It appears to be random. Usually when I pray."

"Hm."

"You are trying not to laugh."

Hawke snorted. "It's funny. You should train it to sing!"

"Hawke-"

"Sing the Chant of Light! Imagine that at services!"

"…I'll bid you good day."

Hawke's laughter followed him out, and Sebastian huffed, annoyed, as he crossed from Hawke's mansion toward the chantry's courtyard. Once inside the safe confines, he climbed the steps to the thankfully empty dais and looked up at the tall statue of Andraste.

"Maker, give me strength," he whispered.

"Quite an ugly depiction of me," said the voice from his waist.

Sebastian pressed his fingertips to his forehead, then looked down at the belt buckle with Andraste's face on it. It was squinting up at the effigy, a critical look in its eye. "Hello again." It would not do, after all, to be rude to it, if it was indeed the spirit of Andraste.

"Was that man serious? To sing the Chant?"

"…He has a terrible sense of humor."

"Hmph. Blasphemous. Kneel, Sebastian. I wish to pray."

"Yes, my Lady," Sebastian said, and knelt, hands clasped.

_Oh Maker, hear my prayer…_


	20. Dorian/Bull - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Dorian/Bull  
> Rating: G
> 
> For Besteck, who wanted Dorian and Iron Bull in the woods with a lost child.

It was cold. But then again, when wasn't it cold? A light snow started, and Dorian shivered, pulling his hood up. Next to him, the Iron Bull let out a quiet snort of laughter. Dorian ignored him and fished through his bag, searching for his gloves when he realized they'd been left back at camp. He swore under his breath and shouldered his pack once more, kicking petulantly at the cold ground.

"Here."

Dorian looked up. Bull was handing him a larger, fur-lined pair, and he took them grudgingly. "Eugh, don't you ever wash these?"

"You could just give 'em back."

But Dorian didn't, and instead pulled them on. They were way too big, but warm. And they did smell, though not half as bad as he made it out to be, and the scent was more of Bull than anything foul. "They're adequate."

Bull grunted, but said nothing. He pulled his own cloak around his shoulders, but remained bare-chested, and Dorian wondered exactly how he handled it. All those muscles must be good for something, he supposed. But all the same, he wished the Inquisitor had sent someone else on this little venture into the woods. Regardless, it was a simple mission. Visit the drop point, retrieve a package, and bring it back to camp. Why they felt the need to send their most talented mage and arguably their strongest warrior to do this, Dorian had no idea. But, as the Inquisitor pointed out, it wasn't as if he was doing anything else. And he would be lying if he said he didn't enjoy Iron Bull's company, at least on some strange level. Of course their relationship progressed from antagonistic to… something else. Something he wasn't yet ready to think about or examine. For now he would let it be what it was and decide later. And the Iron Bull felt similarly, thank the Maker for that.

"Should be just up the ridge," Bull said.

"Oh goodie, more hills."

"You want a piggy back ride?"

Dorian bit his tongue, lest he let some euphemism slip. He heard Bull's snort of laughter and resolutely tried to ignore it. They climbed the ridge in relative silence and stopped at the top. The hollow tree stump was apparent, the site for the drop. However, inside the tree stump was not only the package they were expecting, but also a small, wide-eyed elven child.

"That wasn't on the list of things to pick up, was it?" Dorian asked, though he was quite certain the list did not include a child of any size or species.

"Not something you see every day. Poor thing," Bull added. "No coat." He stepped toward the stump.

The boy tried to scramble away out of the stump, but fell, panicking perhaps at the sight of Bull. A scared sort of whimpering noise escaped him, and he started to shake.

"Stop," Dorian sighed. "You're terrifying to most adults. Imagine what you look like to him. Easy there," he said soothingly to the boy. He didn't have much experience with children, though Alexius's house had the occasional few around during parties and gatherings. They all seemed to take to him and his flashy magic, but he had no idea who this boy was or where he came from. He could be scared of magic for all Dorian knew. "What's your name?"

The boy merely shivered, looking up at him with wide, clear blue eyes. He opened his mouth, then shoved his fist inside, sucking heavily on his fingers.

"Not old enough to talk yet, I suppose," Dorian said, looking at Bull. "Do you have anything suitable for a child to eat?"

"Not unless he likes _really_ spicy stuff."

"I would think not. All right. Well. Hmph." Dorian took another few careful steps and the boy thankfully did not flinch. "We can take him back to camp, see if there's a Dalish clan in the area that might have lost a little one."

The boy reached up suddenly, making needy, insistent cooing noises.

"Think he likes you," Bull said, amused.

Dorian frowned, but carefully picked the child up. Almost immediately the elven boy laid his head against Dorian's shoulder. Little fingers grabbed at the buckle to his cloak, and pulled it into his mouth. The shiny silver was very quickly coated in drool.

"Eugh. Charming. You're just like your Uncle Bull, aren't you?"

"Thought you liked it when I drooled on you."

"Not in front of the child, you pervert. You'll corrupt his tiny mind." He shifted his cloak so that it covered the both of them. "You'll have to take the package."

Bull grabbed the canvas bag the boy had been sitting on and slung it over his back. "Ready when you are."

"Let's… see if anyone knows who he is then," Dorian sighed, and the three of them headed back to camp.

-

Months later, Dorian returned to Skyhold after spending a particularly trying time in the Western Approach. His returns were always worth it, however. They found out that the parents of the young elven boy Solas dubbed, 'Adahlen' perished in the civil war that engulfed the Dales. Skyhold itself seemed to answer the call, raising the child together. But Adahlen, despite having many 'aunties' and 'uncles' always had a certain fondness for Dorian. And no matter how late Dorian was in arriving back, usually with Bull at his side, Adahlen would find him at once.

"DORE, DORE, DORE!"

Tired and sore from the road, but always pleased to see 'his boy', Dorian bent to scoop up the rambunctious toddler, and ruffled his hair.

"We'll need to speak to Uncle Solas about proper grooming once more," Dorian sighed. "Come on. Papa Dorian will tell you all about why sand is a horrible, horrible thing."

And he took his strange little family to the room he found himself sharing with Bull.


	21. Solas, Inquisitor - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: None  
> Rating: G
> 
> For Bestek, who wanted Sera pranking Solas, who ends up drunk.

"And furthermore, I move that we create a new law that… that…" Solas stopped for a moment, staring at the far wall.

The Inquisitor, who'd been listening to him ramble now for at least an hour, turned as well. Nothing was there. Just a blank wall. The entire Inner Circle had been assembled in the war room when Solas demanded it. As he didn't often demand their time, it was no real hardship. Unfortunately he'd come armed with five books and a dozen pages of scribbling, then ranted at them about rights for spirits and demons alike, and that there should be a ban on all tea throughout the castle. It was ten minutes into the speech that Cullen decided to leave, and with him Cassandra, muttering about, "A waste of time."

Now, all that remained were the Inquisitor, Iron Bull, and Dorian, who stayed out of obligation and amusement rather than support of any convictions that Solas wanted to impart upon them. He stumbled as he took a step, and Iron Bull grabbed him quickly before he fell.

"He… fell asleep?" Dorian said, peering over.

Bull scooped him up as easily as a child would a rag doll. "Passed out." He leaned in and sniffed Solas's lips. "Just drunk, not poison."

"That's highly unusual," the Inquisitor said. "Solas doesn't drink, does he?"

Bull shrugged. "Might be my fault. Sera asked me for a bottle of my own stuff. Said the tavern supplied only swill."

The Inquisitor sighed. "Just… tuck him in nicely, all right?"

"You got it, boss."

And as Bull carried out the sleeping Solas, the Inquisitor exchanged a long-suffering look with Dorian.

"It could be worse," Dorian said with a grin. "He could have accidentally set the place on fire."

The Inquisitor sighed heavily.


	22. Iron Bull/Male Trevelyan - PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Iron Bull/Male Trevelyan  
> Rating: PG for language
> 
> cruelestmonth wanted Iron Bull/Trevelyan attending a tea party.

"You know, boss, you could've brought literally anyone else."

Trevelyan looked at Bull, who was dressed fancily in new formalwear. A button up shirt, as ordered by the tailor, and a rich looking coat, and knee-high leather boots finished the ensemble. He did look a little like a fish out of water, but attending Madame Collier's soiree alone was not an option.

"Well not anyone," Trevelyan said, reaching up and brushing a bit of lint off Bull's chest. He pressed his palm to it after, feeling the slow and steady heartbeat. "I think Cole would cause a bit more of a stir than you. And Dorian."

Bull scoffed. "It would be right up his alley."

"I love _you_ ," Trevelyan said, leaning up on his toes for a kiss.

"Is that why you brought me to a sodding tea party?" Bull said, complaining, but leaned down to give him what he wanted.

"Mm. Yes. It's not a punishment. Besides, you can impress them with the way you delicately handle your teacup."

"As long as I get to fuck you in the hotel afterward," Bull whispered against his ear.

The door to the large mansion opened just as Trevelyan blushed, his fair complexion turning him the color of the ripest, reddest, apple. An elven servant led them through to the lounge where Trevelyan made the introductions. The Orlesians were too proper to say anything outright to either of them, about how it obviously offended their delicate senses to host a Qunari.

"I say," Bull said, holding a tiny teacup between his fingers, pinkie out for effect, "this is quite the most aromatic of blends."

Trevelyan tried not to laugh as Bull engaged their host, a verbal sparring match kicking up as he compared their tea to the ones, 'back home.' And if that didn't set them right off. Propriety forced them to rein it in. Still, there were benefits to bringing Bull along. He was able to glean quite a bit of information from their visit, read between the lines of gossip.

"Well that was bracing," Trevelyan said after, as they climbed into the carriage.

"Aw, it wasn't so bad." Bull removed a dainty little porcelain cup from his breast pocket. "Besides… I got a souvenir."

And with a facepalm and a laugh, Trevelyan ordered the driver to take them back home.


	23. Anders/Hawke - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/Hawke  
> Rating: G
> 
> For DearSeptember who wanted Hawke who gets hurt on purpose so he can keep seeing Dr. Anders. Modern AU

"This is the third time this month you've been here, Mr. Hawke," Anders said, checking the chart. "Last time it was a… splinter?"

"Huge splinter," Hawke said. "Made of solid steel like ten inches long!"

Anders raised an eyebrow. "It was barely an inch and came off your broom handle."

Hawke pouted. "Are you saying that I should've let it fester inside my palm? You know, it could've been infected and then you'd have to amputate."

Anders laughed. Garrett Hawke was a constant patient of his, always coming into the A&E in the wee hours of the morning due to something. He'd treated him seven times in the last year, and the visits were becoming more and more frequent.

"It's not a splinter this time," Hawke said.

"Clearly." 

His head was wrapped in a towel which was bleeding through, his shirt stained a deep red. "Bar fight?"

Hawke shrugged. That's what he'd told the admitting nurse. In truth, he'd paid Carver to hit him over the head with a bottle. Carver had done it happily, and would likely have done it for free. "I think I need stitches."

Anders washed his hands and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. "All right. Let's see."

Hawke joked lightly as Anders cleaned him up and stitched the wound. "Eight stitches this time."

"Damn, I was hoping for more," Hawke said. "Aren't scars sexy though?"

Anders laughed. "They can be, sure."

"Adding to my rugged good looks."

Anders smirked, but said nothing, tying off the last. "I'm going to put some gauze over this. Don't get them wet, and come back in eight to ten days so we can remove them."

"Will you do it?"

"Likely a nurse," Anders said, tossing his gloves in the trash. He gathered some paperwork on caring for stitches, though he doubted Hawke needed them with as many as he'd gotten them in the last year.

"But I like you."

Anders turned, eyebrow raised. 

Hawke shrugged. "So. You get off in twenty minutes, don't you?"

The other eyebrow joined the first, and Anders crossed his arms. "You know my schedule."

"Maybe a little?" Hawke had the decency to look sheepish.

"…You aren't just extraordinarly clumsy, are you?"

"Hey, I resent that. I can be clumsy and trying to awkwardly hit on you at the same time."

Anders laughed. "Mr. Hawke-"

"Hawke."

"I don't date my patients."

"Then I'll see another doctor. But you can't get jealous," Hawke said, the paper sheet under him crinkling as he got to his feet. "So. Coffee? Twenty minutes? My treat?"

Anders considered this a moment. "All right. But I'm driving. You've suffered a head injury."

Hawke grinned. "It doesn't affect my winning personality though."

"I'll be the judge of that. Now go. I have other patients."

"Cheating on me already," Hawke lamented.

Anders sighed and held open the door for him. But when Hawke was no longer in earshot, he did laugh a little, and smiled, looking forward to the end of his shift.


	24. Samson, Maddox - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: None  
> Rating: G
> 
> For cruelestmonth who wanted Samson and Maddox being happy. Modern AU

If there was one thing that annoyed Samson – one thing? Hah! – it was sand. But it wasn't his call in deciding where to go for "Family Day." Not actually being part of the family (and Maddox would berate him thoroughly for thinking that) he didn't have much say. Delilah, Maddox's little girl, was yearning for the beach this Saturday, so off to the beach they went. It was warm enough to play in the shallows, which Maddox's wife was doing now with their daughter.

"You could join them," Maddox said, approaching carefully so as not to kick sand on his friend. He knelt down and opened the cooler, pulling out two beers.

Samson sat up and took the proffered drink. "Can you see me searching under rocks for clams and pretty seashells?"

Maddox shrugged and flopped next to Samson, clinking his bottle against his friend's. "Cheers. And no, not really." He took a swing. "But you did braid her hair last week."

Samson took a deep swallow, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. "There's a difference. Lady asks you to braid her hair, you do it."

"You're good with her."

"Hm."

"You should think about marriage, Samson. You'd make someone very happy."

Samson looked sidelong at Maddox, disbelief etched into his features. He snorted by way of response and took another sip.

"Sure, sure, act like that," Maddox said. "But it's true. You're a romantic at heart, and you know it."

"Bullshit."

Delilah interrupted, skipping up the sand, bucket in hand. "Uncle Saaaaam," she said, drawing out the nickname in a way that told Samson he was about to be in trouble. "Come clamming with me?"

And as Samson dutifully picked himself up from the blanket, Maddox threw him a smirk that clearly said, _I told you so._


	25. Anders/Karl - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/Karl  
> Rating: G
> 
> For DearSeptember who wanted Anders escaping the tower, trying to get to Karl, but sadly not making it very far.

"One, two, three… four… five." Anders muttered to himself about the provisions in his pack. He wouldn't need much, just enough to get him to the Bannorn and then he could steal fruit and bread. Then once he reached Amaranthine or Highever, he would stow away on a ship heading to Kirkwall. And once he reached Kirkwall? Well, that didn't bloody matter. He would find Karl if it was the last thing he did.

Karl.

The only thing worth staying for in this Maker forsaken tower. A pretty cage, that's all it was. And on most days it wasn't even that pretty. At first there was no reason to stay, and he escaped. Successfully too, even if they'd caught up with him eventually. But then there was Karl. Patient, sweet, gentle Karl. The only reason Anders didn't try to leave. Oh, they talked about it. Running away together, building a fantasy that they would buy a house, start a farm. But they both knew they were just fooling themselves. Mages weren't allowed even basic freedom. But the templars couldn't take his dreams.

"And they won't take Karl."

He gathered the hemp he'd braided into rope, which tied to old stained bed sheets, and tested the weight of the wardrobe he tied it to. He didn't dare go down any further than the tenth floor. They were guarding the kitchens now, since the turnip cart incident.

"I'm coming," he whispered, tossing the length out of the window.

The sky was overcast, the lake choppy. But if he let a little thing like weather stop him, he might as well just go hide under his bed now and forget about ever seeing Karl again. His chest tightened, and he felt the hot prickles of tears at the corners of his eyes. No, that wasn't an option. He _would_ get back to his lover. He _would_ see him again. Even if he was thrown into Kirkwall's Circle, he would be with Karl. Hesitating, he took a deep breath, then swung his leg out of the window, then the other, and slowly started to lower himself. He tried not to look down, and concentrated on the makeshift rope in his hands, his mind drifting to a conversation he had with Karl just a month ago.

_"What are you doing?"_

_Anders looked up, an armful of linens blocking his view. He shifted so he could see Karl, and stuck his tongue out at him. "Building a fort."_

_"A fort?"_

_"Pillow fort, Karl. Didn't you ever do that?"_

_Karl entered the room, which was little more than a disused storage chamber. Anders precariously stacked the furniture, upturned chairs and armoires this way and that. He draped the last of the linens over top, creating a crawlspace. Inside, several cushions and pillows and one large puffy blanket._

_"Come inside!"_

_Karl rolled his eyes good-naturedly but crawled inside after Anders, and was welcomed with a sensual, appreciative, kiss._

_"Now what?" Karl asked._

_"Now," Anders said, with a cheeky grin, "we get naked in the fort."_

Anders was just remembering what came next, smiling to himself, when he lost his concentration, the rope slipping from his fingers. The last thing he remembered before he passed out was the clank of plate metal, intense pain, and someone shouting.

-

"Three months of peeling potatoes."

"Five."

Irving sighed. "Very well. Five."

Anders scowled. His leg was bandaged. They wouldn't let him use magic to heal it, nor did his tutor think he should be allowed. No one was speaking up for him. Karl would have. And now Irving, the old bastard, and Greagoir, the even older, even more bastard-y bastard, were deciding his fate. Better peeling potatoes than emptying chamber pots though. Then again, he couldn't do _that_ with a broken leg.

Everyone but Irving filed out of the room, and he looked at Anders with impossibly sympathetic eyes. Anders scowled and looked away, ignoring the fatherly hand on his shoulder.

"Anders-"

"Stuff it," Anders said, and grabbed the wooden crutches. "I'm going to get out of this place and I'm going to find Karl. One way or another."

And as he left in a huff, he missed Irving's parting words.

"I hope so, my boy."


	26. Alexius, Dorian, gen - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vee wanted Alexius in grief, and Dorian saving him from a potentially bad decision.

Alexius stared quietly at the amber colored liquid in his glass. It became harder and harder to feel anything lately. He would wake up after a fitful night, if he even slept at all, and immediately remember, the numbness kicking in at once. While he enjoyed the occasional drink before, now it seemed the only way to get through a day was to start and end with one, with many in between. Cursory research made little headway into slowing the illness, but subsequent study yielding no results. And rumors were starting to spread.

He supposed that's why he found himself sitting across from a man with whom he rarely associated, accepting condolences and sharing whiskey. Had he been in his right mind and not clouded with grief, he would've seen the visit for what it was. An attempt to sway him toward the other man's way of thinking. Alexius was infamous through the Imperium as an advocate against blood magic, toward furthering education. But Danarius merely saw him as a pawn now. A man broken, easy for the pickings. And he did not mince words.

"You do realize that temporal magic is just a fantasy," Danarius said, gently swirling his glass. "The real power has always and will always lie in blood."

Alexius frowned. It was at this point in time that he would easily throw Danarius from his estate, cutting the conversation short and not even create a pretense on which to do it. He was silent for a time, slowly sipping the alcohol which warmed his belly and strengthened his resolve. Blood magic was never worth the cost. But to save Felix? To give his son his life back? That was a price he was willing to pay. He opened his mouth to ask what Danarius wanted when the door to the lounge opened.

"Alexius, you really need to talk to your gardener," Dorian said, strolling in as if he owned the place. He'd moved in permanently since the attack that left Livia dead and Felix ill, and largely started organizing the estate and its affairs in addition to helping research. "The front shrubberies look a mess. Oh, hello," he added to Danarius, though his tone was dismissive at best. He reached down and plucked Alexius's glass from his hand. "Felix told me you were in here. Have you seen him today?" He sniffed at the alcohol, then tossed the remains in a potted plant before setting the glass on the sideboard. "He's been asking after you. Shall we see him together?"

"Dorian, we're-"

"Excellent!" Dorian said, taking Alexius under the elbow. He glanced at Danarius once more. "You'll have to excuse us, Magister. Family business. I'm sure you understand. I'll have one of the servants see you out."

Before Danarius could even formulate an argument, Dorian pulled Alexius from the room. Alexius wrenched his arm away once they were out of the lounge, and glared.

"Don't even start," Dorian said, urging him down the hall toward Felix's room. "That man is bad news. You know it and I know it. I won't ask you what he was doing here and I'll thank you not to lie to me. Or to think about whatever it was you were thinking about. Felix needs you." He gave a quick knock on the door before opening it. "I found him for you," he said, poking his head in with a smile. To Alexius, he added, "I'll go make sure your guest is gone. Enjoy your time with your son."

He didn't wait to hear if Alexius would protest, and instead turned on his heel to ensure Danarius was escorted out. Alexius would not fall, not to blood magic. Not if Dorian had anything to say about it.

He only hoped he had the strength to keep this up.


	27. Alexius, Dorian, gen - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: none  
> Rating: G
> 
> For Vee, who asked for Dorian using an EZ Bake Oven. My wife enjoys crack drabbles, I don't ask. I am just the tool for writing.

"Yes but does it have to be so… alarmingly pink?" Dorian asked, eyebrow raised, surveying the box. "Honestly, it's the tackiest appliance I've ever seen."

"Dorian, you've never even _seen_ an appliance," Alexius replied, sighing. Rather than berate him further, however, he waved Dorian on to start unpacking the box. "You're going to set it up and then you're going to learn how to use it."

"I don't see why this is even remotely a criteria in my training. In what situation could I possibly need to know how to bake a…" He took out the instruction booklet which contained recipes and frowned. "Sweetie Pie Fruit Tart. What in the flames is that?"

Alexius gestured at the booklet. "Flip a few pages. It should have savory recipes. Pretzels and pizza. Things that will keep you afloat when you're out on your own."

"…Alexius, you are aware of these establishments where you go and sit down and tell someone what you'd like to eat and they bring it right to your table, correct? You have actually been to one of these establishments?"

"Dorian."

Dorian sighed. "Right. Well. Time to make a pizza the size of my palm, I suppose."

At least, Alexius thought, he anticipated the fire, and was able to put it out with only minimal damage to his kitchen.


	28. Krem, Bull/Various - PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Bull/Various  
> Rating: PG
> 
> For Tallia3, who asked for something with Krem and his fangirls.

"Form up!"

Krem walked the ranks, wincing under the hot summer sun. Even though they were high up in the Frostbacks, it still managed to get to unbearable temperatures training in the valley below Skyhold. He looked up at the castle, shielding his eyes against the way the sun bounced off the snow. The Herald's Rest was waiting for him after this, and an ice cold pint.

The soldiers fell in – recruits, really, that Commander Cullen asked for help in training. The sound of a woman's giggling made him turn on his heel, ready to berate whoever interrupted, when he stopped short. No fewer than six women were clustered together, watching him, pointing and whispering. Seeing that they weren't recruits goofing off, he ignored it and turned back to what he was doing.

He would have been able to put the gaggle of women from his mind had it not been for the fact that they showed up again that night at the tavern. Then again the next day at training. And seemed to be everywhere he went without exception. He knew that certain men in the camp gained a following – Commander Cullen had seven or eight girls lurking outside his office at all hours of the day. But far from being flattered, it made him paranoid. A fact which he brought up to Bull one evening. After a few minutes of teasing, Bull agreed he'd 'take care' of it, and Krem was grateful to hear the end of it.

Until he approached the room he shared with Bull the next evening. A tied scrap of leather on the door handle meant Bull was 'entertaining.' Tired from a long day of training, Krem wanted nothing more than to strip, wash, and fall into bed. But it didn't seem that would happen tonight.

"Excuse me."

Krem sidestepped a pretty young woman who slipped into the room, tossing him an obvious wink.

"Well," he sighed, as the sounds of several voices could be heard from inside the room, "guess I can't complain."

Problem solved for now, he retreated to the tavern for a late night pint of ale.


	29. Solas/Fenris - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Solas/Fenris  
> Rating: G
> 
> For my Fenfen anon who wanted something with Solas and Fenris in a hahren/student sort of situation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be taking drabble requests for the foreseeable future. Please see my profile for details if you're interested!

Fenris couldn't be sure what drew him to the small clearing in the forest the first time he went. Usually running from Danarius was easier when he kept to the large cities. Feeding himself, hiring himself out as a sellsword, running from his past became routine. For whatever reason though, fate or chance or maybe the Maker, or even something unknown brought him out of the city and into the wilderness. At first, he thought the strange elf lying in the mossy field was dead, but he was simply asleep, and woke slowly as Fenris approached, curious.

They were wary of one another at first, Fenris more so than Solas, who welcomed him tentatively. They broke bread, shared their stories. And the first time the Tevinter hunters came, Solas unleashed a barrage of powerful magic that drove them back. The corpses, torn apart by the tempest that was called, would make the next group think twice about following. And while Fenris was wary of the magic that Solas possessed, he couldn't afford to turn down the help.

Years later, they lay together amidst the ruins of a forgotten fortress.

"Why did you never join the Dalish?"

Solas smiled, a gentle knowing smile that he often gave when Fenris asked questions. And he'd learned to ask many, as Solas was only too happy to hear them, even if he sometimes avoided answering them. "Why didn't you? You had the same opportunities as myself."

"They would turn me away."

"Indeed they might have. But I have been called 'flat-ear' just as you would have. I find it easier to learn about the world on my own."

Fenris frowned. "Would you prefer being alone?"

Solas smiled again, and slipped a hand over Fenris's, squeezing reassuringly. "Now, da'mi. I think you know the answer to that."

Fenris huffed, but accepted the answer, hiding a very small smile of his own.


	30. Maxwell Trevelyan/Iron Bull - PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Maxwell Trevelyan/Iron Bull  
> Rating: PG
> 
> For cruelestmonth, who wanted anything with Iron Bull/Maxwell relaxing or fighting a dragon. Based off the Maxwell Trevelyan in my story, "The Tevinter Candidate"

It started out as a picnic. Maxwell thought it would be relaxing to sit by the riverside and talk with Bull about the last few days. He didn't, however, realize that the spot he picked was close to a dragon's nest until the shadow fell over them, interrupting the quiet peace of the afternoon. Seconds later, their serene picnic was overrun by dragonlings, bursts of flame spewing from their snouts. Bull leapt to his feet at once, swinging his great war hammer with an impassioned, triumphant cry.

Minutes later, the chaos settled with the dust, the high dragon gone for the moment, and Bull, panting and sweating with the effort of the fight, glanced around.

"Boss?"

"Are they dead?"

Bull looked up to see Maxwell peeking out from behind the tree, sword held awkwardly in his hand, and sighed. "Yeah, they're dead. And you need more lessons."

"Sorry," Maxwell apologized sheepishly, emerging from his spot. "Shame the picnic's ruined," he said, surveying the carnage.

Bull toed a dragonling's carcass off the picnic basket, reached in, and pulled out a sandwich. "I dunno. Looks good to me."

And as Bull took a bite of the blood-flecked sandwich, it was Maxwell who sighed.


	31. Samson, Cullen - PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: None (or Samson/Cullen if you squint)  
> Rating: PG
> 
> For HL, who wanted them drunk and/or high doing something dangerous and/or stupid.

"Shh!"

"You shush. You're drunker than I am."

"I am not."

"How many hits of lyrium did you take?"

Samson thought about this for a moment. Then, deciding that Cullen wouldn't believe him no matter what his answer was – and truth be told, he _couldn't_ remember – he simply shrugged. "Do you want to live your life as a square, Cullen? This is a harmless…" He paused, thinking for a moment. "Yeah, harmless. Mostly harmless, except for her boots, maybe. Prank. Just a prank. Now light the fucking bag and ring the bell."

As the bag of nugshit caught fire, Cullen rang their commanding officer's doorbell, and giggling like little girls, they both ran.

-

Early the next morning, head pounding, mouth sour, unable to recall the previous night in any great detail, Cullen dragged himself into the bathroom and looked at himself in the mirror with bloodshot eyes. On his face in permanent marker was a giant penis, signed of course, by Samson.

_Never again,_ he promised himself, though he knew that next weekend, he would likely let Samson talk him into something equally embarrassing.


	32. Iron Bull/Dorian - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Iron Bull/Dorian  
> Rating: G
> 
> For KPB who wanted Dorian/Iron Bull post game, with Dorian relearning Tevinter society. I get bonus points for including Aquinea!

"Never let it be said that I do anything that's expected of me."

"Oh, I don't know," Bull said. "Here you are, attending a ball, making nice. _Dancing_ ," he smirked.

Dorian scoffed, readjusting his hold on Bull's hand as they carefully worked their way across the marble floor. He was all too aware of how many sets of eyes were upon them. Socialites staring, watching to see if he would make a mistake. Or, more accurately, to see if Bull made a mistake. "Because bringing a Qunari to a traditional Tevinter party is so very orthodox. I missed the life of a pariah, but Father wants me to make nice."

"And you insisted on bringing your Qunari lover."

"As if I would leave you behind in Skyhold with all those serving girls staring at you lasciviously. Big hero that you are," Dorian added, simultaneously fond and irritated.

"They were looking at you the same way, if I remember correctly," Bull said, smirking when the crowd gasped as he performed a complicated turn, keeping in perfect step with the music.

"Yes, well, there's no chance of _that_ happening," Dorian retorted. But he smiled. Even if Bull hadn't agreed to come home with him, he knew that his lover wouldn't stray. After all, who would ever cheat on him? He was the perfect specimen of manhood. Anyone would be lucky to be with him. As he executed a perfect step, he caught his father's eye from across the room and gave a nod.

Halward's lips pursed into a tight frown, but he nodded, regardless. Next to him, however, his wife looked livid, face pink with embarrassment. She leaned over to whisper harshly to Halward, and left the room.

"Well I can see that Mother's having a grand time." He sighed. They bowed as the dance ended, the onlookers clapping politely. Bull leaned down and kissed his cheek, and Dorian felt a slight heat rush into his cheeks. "At least Father is trying," he added. "Shall we mingle?"

"I'm going to go mingle with the punch bowl," Bull said. "Watch the guy in the corner. He'll probably try to kill you before the night is over."

"And that's why I adore you so."

"You can adore me more later in private." Bull smirked and the crowed parted for him as he made his way toward the refreshments.

Bracing himself for the impending conversations that were sure to come, Dorian took a breath, steeled himself, and plastered on a false smile before wading into the shark-infested waters once again.


	33. Anders/Hawke, Bethany, Carver - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/Hawke  
> Rating: G
> 
> Hawke brings his boyfriend home during college break. Bethany and Carver have their own thoughts on the handsome blond man. As requested by doof via ask.fm/TCRegan

He's tall. Taller than I'd have expected from the way Garrett described him, and definitely skinnier. When he mentioned he had a boyfriend, I expected Mother to have a fit. But she was surprisingly okay with it. Of course she looked at me and Carver in a, "I expect grandbabies," sort of way. I'm not sure kids are for me, but maybe if I find the right guy. Still, Anders was pretty cool. Too cool for Garrett, in my opinion. He wore a button down shirt and a silk vest to dinner, and his hair was tied back in a ponytail. Who does that? Fashionable, cute, and polite?

"You don't happen to have an attractive younger brother, do you?" I ask. The quest elicits a laugh from him and from mother. Garrett rolls his eyes, and I stick my tongue out at him.

"Only child," he answers, but winks at me, and I'm pretty sure I blush a little.

Yeah, Garrett. You did well to bag this one, big brother. I just hope you don't screw it up.

-

When Garrett said he was gay, I wasn't sure what to think. I mean, yeah he's my older brother and all, but still. I don't know, I guess I felt weird about it for a while. Bethany and mom took it fine but they're girls. I wonder what dad would've said. Probably nothing. But he always did like Garrett best. It was easy to forget about it after Garrett went off to college. But then he came back for break and brought him. Tall, blond, long hair, and definitely not the type of guy I'd ever think Garrett would go for.

Not that I thought about his type, or any guy like that before. Anders was sort of pretty, I guess. He laughed a lot. Studying medicine, he mentioned, when mother asked.

"So who's the girl?" I ask

I ignore Garrett's glare, and Bethany's exclaimed, "Carver!"

"Neither," Anders says, smiling again. "That's sort of the point, though. No offense," he adds to Bethany, who grins at him.

It wasn't what I meant. But I mutter an apology, and excuse myself. Safe in my own room, door locked, I think about what it would've been like if I had met Anders first.

"Still would've gone for Garrett," I sigh, and count the days until my stupid brother goes back to school.


	34. Anders/Hawke - PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairings: Anders/Hawke  
> Rating: G
> 
> Vee wanted Hawke as a samurai. I took liberties and made it Thedas-style

Kirkwall's elite fighting force comprised not of the templars, but of the nobles. Every generation supplied a son or daughter to join the warrior caste, and it was an honor to be called into battle to defend the city-state from any potential enemies. Hawke trained daily for his task, finding this duty to be preferable to all others. It wasn't as if he hated the endless ceremonies that noble life brought him, but in his late twenties and unmarried, it was simply easier to use this as an excuse to fend off his mother's potential choices for his bride. He'd leave those responsibilities to his younger brother.

"You're not swinging your sword high enough."

Hawke smirked, turning to look at the real reason he avoided his other duties. Anders was a commoner, a healer in the city. And while healers were highly regarded, the difference in their bloodlines was irrefutable. His father, after all, had been a farmer, while Hawke traced his noble ancestry through his mother's line back further than there were written records.

He pulled Anders close, careful not to hurt him with the ornate, ceremonial armor he wore to practice, and kissed him deeply. "You know I'm better with my other sword."

Anders rolled his eyes. "Twenty more minutes of practice. Then you can show me your new 'sword' moves, my lord."

Hawke grinned, and released him to finish his moves, looking forward to training with Anders.


	35. Iron Bull/Dorian - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Iron Bull/Dorian  
> Rating: G
> 
> For Besteck, who wanted the two of them in a "You've seen the worst of me" type of situation. Post-game

"Hey! Hey, Dorian, wait, would you?"

Dorian ignored his lover, hurrying over the rain-slicked cobblestones. He should've known better than to try to return home, to try to make peace with family. Halward had written, a tentative, hopeful response as to seeing his son again. He even agreed to host Iron Bull, much to Dorian's surprise. And of course it wasn't his fault that he was called away on business merely days before their arrival, leaving Dorian's mother to receive them.

It was the ultimate dressing down. After thirty years of dealing with her, Dorian thought perhaps he could handle the nasty comments, the criticisms. He was a damned war hero for Andraste's sake! The Inquisitor had personally thanked him. Everyone in Skyhold acknowledged his greatness, as they well should have. But not Aquinea. No, she didn't see any of that. She only saw the imperfections he worked so hard to improve or hide away.

"Dorian, stop!"

He ducked under an overhang, the rain tatting on the canvas of the market stall. Closed now, so late at night.

"You act like I've never been called an oxman before," Bull said, ducking to fit under the awning with him. "What is it?"

Dorian drew himself up, wiping the rain from his face, trying to find the words. "I thought perhaps it was a new beginning, but I can't…" He took a breath. "You just can't go back, can you? Once you've been through all that?"

Bull frowned, then drew him close, tilting his chin up and kissing him gently. "No. But she's the one stuck in the past. I know you, Dorian."

"… I just wish she did."

"We'll find a hotel."

Dorian nodded.

"Still want to meet your dad, though."

Dorian sighed. "And you don't mind? What she said about you? Us?"

Bull shrugged. "If I cared about every stuffy 'Vint's opinion, I would've worn that stupid shirt you bought me."

Dorian laughed. "Barbarian."

"Yeah, you love it."

"I do," Dorian whispered, leaning up for another kiss. "I really do."


	36. pre Hawke/Anders - NC-17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: pre-Hawke/Anders  
> Rating: NC-17
> 
> For HL who wanted a modern AU with Hawke and Anders as roommates, and Anders gets into a predicament.

Hawke was dozing, laptop on his chest, when a small tentative knock brought him fully to consciousness. He sat up, pulled on a pair of boxers, and opened the door, unsurprised to see his roommate, Anders, on the other side. They had a decent arrangement, living together in the small apartment for a couple of months now. Both were pretty lax on any kind of rules, and Anders wasn't a neat freak, which worked for Hawke. What didn't work for Hawke though, was how Maker damned gorgeous he was. He was fairly sure Anders swung both ways, but Hawke never pushed, never wanting to make it awkward between them. They hung out together, played video games sometimes, but Anders rarely came to his door. And tonight, he looked different. Worried, maybe.

"What's up?" Hawke asked.

"I… Maker, this is embarrassing. I need your help."

"Sure. Whatever you need."

"Can we go into the bathroom? It's a little… the light is better."

Confused, but always willing to help out a friend, Hawke followed him into the small bathroom, wincing at the bright light over the mirror. He noticed Anders limped slightly.

"You hurt?"

"I… was…" Anders took a breath, and rushed forward, not looking at Hawke. "I was trying out a new sex toy and I got it stuck inside me and I can't get it out."

It took only a second to process the words, then Hawke burst out into laughter. "I'm sorry!" he said at once, as Anders tried to push past him out of the bathroom. He took him by the arms, holding him in place. "Come on, though, that's a little funny."

"You're an asshole."

"You're making the jokes too easy. No, seriously," Hawke said, glancing down. Anders wore only a t-shirt and boxers, and his slight arousal was noticeable. "Right. Okay, well you don't want to go to the hospital for this so. Yeah. I'll do it."

Anders sighed and pulled out a box of latex gloves and some Vaseline from under the sink. "How… uh. Do you want me?"

Hawke smirked. "Maker, any other night I'd have loved to hear those words come out of your mouth."

Anders' eyes widened at the proclamation, and he blushed furiously. "Not the time for jokes." He turned away and pulled down his boxers, revealing a pale, slightly freckled backside.

 _Gorgeous, too,_ Hawke thought, as he pulled on a glove and lathered a copious amount of Vaseline on it. "Thought most of these things had flared bottoms to make sure this doesn't happen."

"It's a weird shape, okay? Could you just…"

Hawke snickered quietly, but said nothing else as he slowly got to work, carefully easing the small vibrator from Anders. It was almost clinical the way he handled it, and entertained a brief fantasy in which he was inside Anders, instead of the toy. "There. Maker's breath, what a color. Bright pink?"

Anders turned and snatched the toy away, yanking his boxers up. "Thanks," he muttered, and pushed past him.

"Anders!"

Anders stopped, but didn't turn.

"I meant it. If you ever want to… y'know. You're fucking gorgeous, that's all I mean," Hawke said, pulling the glove from his hand.

Anders ducked his head a little. "Yeah maybe," he said quickly, and fled to his room.

Hawke smirked. 'Maybe,' after all, gave him something to look forward to.


	37. Anders/Hawke, Isabela - PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/Hawke  
> Rating: PG
> 
> Follow up from chapter 33's drabble for doof, who wanted Anders to meet Hawke's first sexual partner, Isabela.

Hawke never would have brought Anders to the dive bar in Kirkwall if he'd known Isabela was going to be there. But there wasn't much else to do in the city during the winter break, just restaurants and bars, or the mall but that was boring and closed now at two in the morning.

"Garrett! My gorgeous love!" Isabela threw herself around Hawke's neck and kissed him soundly as he flailed a little, pulling her away.

Anders, standing next to him, raised an eyebrow.

"Isabela, you've got to stop doing that," Hawke said, just short of wiping his mouth. "Look, uh. This is Anders. My boyfriend," he said, pulling Anders close, arm wrapped firmly around his waist.

"Oh my god, aren't you just adorable!" Isabela exclaimed, and hugged Anders tightly, kissing him as well.

Or she would have, had Anders not turned his head in time. Instead, she left a smear of red lipstick on his cheek.

"How drunk are you?" Hawke asked.

"Not enough yet! Hang on, put your drinks on my tab tonight! For old time's sake, yeah?" She winked at Hawke, then looked to Anders. "You're lucky with this one. Don't let him get away!"

Hawke frowned as she skipped away, looking for other prey no doubt, then looked apologetically at Anders. "She's uh… an old girlfriend."

"Of course," Anders said.

"…First. You know."

"Love," Anders said, wiping the lipstick from his cheek, then from Hawke's mouth, "it doesn't matter." He kissed him gently. "You're mine now, yes?"

Hawke yanked him close and kissed him properly. "Yes," he whispered against his ear. "You want to go back home?"

Anders laughed. "To your mother's house?"

"Hotel then. I'll pay."

"Trashy," Anders said, smirking. "I like it. Let's go."

With one last look to Isabela, who waved and winked, Hawke pulled Anders from the bar.


	38. Hawke/Anders - R

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Hawke/Anders  
> Rating: R
> 
> For HL who wanted a follow up to chapter 36's pre-Hawke/Anders with Hawke showing Anders he was better than any fancy little sex toy.

He decided the best way to face this was like everything else in his life: head on. Garrett "Confrontation" Hawke, that was him. He chose a night when he knew Anders had no work the next day, and knocked on his roommate's door wearing a smile and nothing else.

"Er. Hawke? I think you forgot to put on pants."

"That was on purpose," Hawke said. "Can I come in?"

"Well, I guess so, but-"

Hawke was already in, glancing around the bedroom, hands on his hips. He turned back to look at Anders. "So, were in you in bed when you were using the thing that got stuck up your-"

"We're not talking about that!" Anders said quickly, blushing bright red.

"Good, straight to business then."

"Hawke, what are you – mmph!"

Kissing Anders was nice, Hawke decided. It was even better when he stopped flailing and started kissing back. And the best part? Pulling his clothing off as quickly as possible. They fell together, naked and laughing, bare skin heating up quickly as they rolled in the unmade bed. Hawke straddled his hips, pinning his wrists to the mattress, and grinned somewhat ferally.

"Lube? I know you have some."

"Top drawer," Anders gasped when Hawke pressed down against him.

Hawke found the half-empty tube and poured a generous amount in his palm, still smirking. They didn't speak much, the occasional request or demand. Anders' ordered, "Go faster," and Hawke's requested, "Can I go harder?" Both were met with enthusiasm as they found their rhythm, falling quiet except for the sounds of mutual pleasure. And Hawke's growling of Anders' name when he came, and his soft reassurances when Anders clung to him after his own release.

"So," Hawke asked, peppering his face with kisses, rubbing his beard over Anders' soft, shaven cheek. "Better than the toy, right? We'll do it again soon?"

Anders, trying to catch his breath, laughed. "Yes, Hawke. Soon."


	39. Alistair/Male Cousland - NC-17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Alistair/Male Cousland  
> Rating: NC-17
> 
> For HL who wanted Alistair getting a blowjob and trying to distract himself in order not to come too quickly.

"But first to make the dough – Ohh… Ohh… Ngh. You have to… add… eggs to the flour and… pound… Maker's breath. Pound it out and…"

Aedan Cousland glanced up, lips tucked around his teeth, mouth on Alistair's cock. His tongue flickered over the tip before he sucked gently, and Alistair let out a string of nonsense words pertaining to, he thought, cheese pie. He was used to Alistair's eccentricities by now, and his general bashfulness in bed. Usually it wound up that he had to take the initiative, and Alistair never seemed to mind. They'd had several good weeks together, curled up in Aedan's tent as they traveled, heavy make out sessions when they could between missions. Aedan didn't care who saw them. After all if it was one thing he learned in his short life it was that life itself was too short. Too painful, especially without love and companionship. Alistair agreed, and hardly anyone in their group batted an eye.

But tonight they were in Denerim, the evening before the Landsmeet, and Aedan was nervous. He wanted to relax, and that meant a good amount of sex. But they'd just barely started and Alistair was babbling, and usually it was endearing but now… now it was simply distracting. He pulled back, wiping his mouth.

"What are you doing?"

"…Reciting the recipe for Ferelden Goat Cheese Pie."

"Why?" he asked carefully, trying not to let his annoyance bleed into his tone.

Alistair turned slightly pink. "It's just, I… it's been awhile since we've been, ah, together and the first time in a real bed like this and you are really, really good at that and I just wanted to make it last longer than, y'know. The usual."

Aedan stared a moment, then laughed, shaking his head before leaning down to kiss him. "It doesn't matter how long you last. So long as you're enjoying it."

"Oh. I am. And… I'll shut up. If you want me to, that is. But if you could keep going, that would be just great."

Aedan nipped his lower lip, enjoying the startled, "Ow!" and the pout that followed before he descended once again. And this time, he was pleased that the only words that came from Alistair's mouth were whispered moans of pleasure.


	40. Anders/Hawke, Aveline, Donnic - NC-17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/Hawke  
> Rating: NC-17
> 
> Followup to number 37, for doof who wanted Hawke/Anders in a cheap motel, who are interrupted by a couple who were just trying to get some sleep.

The rhythmic pounding of the headboard against the wall was drowned out only by the upstairs occupants' music. Hawke barely noticed it as he thrust into Anders, his boyfriend's legs resting on his shoulders. The pillows were propped up to keep Anders from smacking his own head against the wood, though Hawke doubted he would've cared or realized with the way his eyes rolled back, his nails digging into Hawke's biceps as he begged for more. Running into Isabela, Hawke realized Anders had a bit of a jealous streak, perhaps even a little self-conscious. He promised Anders he only had eyes for him, but Anders was still a little down after.

Hawke was used to it, the morose moods his boyfriend would often fall into sometimes when he thought that maybe Hawke was better off with someone else. Isabela was pretty and vivacious and, most importantly or so Anders thought, a woman. But before Anders could state that Hawke could, 'Have a normal life,' with her, Hawke was dragging him to the cheap motel up the street. They were naked seconds after the door closed, and Anders was too far gone to complain now.

"Mine," Hawke growled, thrusting again, the cheap handles on the nightstand drawers rattling when the headboard smacked the wall again. "You're. Mine. And I'm. Yours."

"Yes," Anders breathed. "Maker, yes."

A different pounding, louder, more insistent, interrupted them. Hawke grunted once, then again, ignoring it until he came, and made sure Anders did as well.

"Just a fucking second!" he called, breathless. Careful as he pulled out, he yanked the sheet from the floor, tossed a thin blanket over Anders who could barely move, and went to the door. Wrapping the sheet haphazardly around him, he cracked open the door. "What?!"

On the other side stood a sheepish looking man with who could only be his wife, a livid expression on her face. "Some people are trying to sleep," she said sternly.

"And some people are trying to party," Hawke shot back, gesturing upward. "And others are trying to fuck. You should try it. Remove the stick from your ass first." He slammed the door and locked it.

"That… that was probably… better way," Anders tried, too tired to argue.

Hawke smirked and dropped the sheet. "Round two in a few minutes. And I don't care if we wake the whole damn motel."


	41. Anders/Hawke - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/Hawke  
> Rating: G
> 
> For Anon who wanted Anders/Hawke hurt/comfort. Modern Thedas AU.

"He'll be all right."

Anders shook his head, and picked up the pace, flashlight sweeping from side to side. "He won't. He's not used to being outside. I shouldn't have propped the door open. I'm so stupid."

Hawke gripped his boyfriend's shoulder and squeezed. "We'll find him, Anders. Pounce is resourceful. Remember the time he stole the turkey from my sandwich? I was gone for like, a second, and he was already finished eating it by the time we found it."

Anders pursed his lips, eyes slightly glassy. They'd been searching since that afternoon and it was nearly midnight. Hawke called a few friends and his sister to help canvas the neighborhood, but he couldn't ask them to stay this long after dark. He, however, would not leave his distraught lover to search for his cat alone, and knew that Anders wouldn't give up until Pounce was found.

"Hey, Anders. Listen." He stopped him, taking him by the shoulders, and looked him in the eye. "We'll find him. And if not tonight, tomorrow I'll put up "Missing Cat" posters all over the neighborhood while you're at work. I'll call every animal shelter. We'll find him. I promise."

Anders nodded, but didn't speak, the tears threatening to spill over. He looked scared and worn out, awake since five in the morning. Hawke hugged him tightly, then steered him toward their block, kissing his temple.

"Nothing will happen to him. He's the biggest, baddest cat from here to Starkhaven. Remember he scratched the hell out of Carver that one time?"

Anders laughed a little, though Hawke could tell he was still fighting tears. They walked in silence, Hawke's arm around him, and started up the path to their house.

"Holy shit. Anders."

Anders looked up to where Hawke was pointing. On their porch, looking annoyed, fur caked in mud, sat Ser Pounce-a-lot. His tail flicked when he saw Anders, and he mewed, irritated, before turning around once and scratching at the screen door.

"POUNCE!"

Hawke let Anders go, smiling as he ran up the steps and scooped Pounce in his arms, hugging him tightly. Pounce would never love Hawke, but Anders did, and that's all that mattered to him.


	42. Anders/Hawke - PG-13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/Hawke  
> Rating: PG-13
> 
> For Lux who wanted AU cop!Hawke rescuing Anders with his partner. Love at first between Hawke and Anders. (Okay so it was more lust, but still. They'll make it work.)

It wasn't your usual sort of rescue story. Hawke was just a beat cop, but he'd been pulled off his usual assignments to hunt for a missing research doctor. Government, military, he wasn't sure. What he knew was that when he pulled the guy from the laboratory, cutting the rope from around his wrists, racing through the building as it burned down around them, was that his life was changed forever.

Tall, blond, face smudged with dirt and blood, Dr. Anders was gorgeous with a sad sort of smile that attracted Hawke instantly to him and ignited the protective side in him. He called his commanding officer, who ordered him to the safe house for now, while the commotion died down. Adding a, "Good job, Hawke," helped, though Hawke was hoping to see a bonus in his paycheck as well at the end of the month.

The safe house was little more than a dingy motel room with bad TV reception, but it had hot water, and Anders used it at once, washing away weeks of captivity. Hawke sat on the motel's crappy mattress, flipping through the TV, knee jiggling nervously. His partner sat in the corner, watching him warily.

"What?" he snapped.

His partner stayed silent.

Anders emerged from the bathroom, a roll of steam accompanying him, a thin towel wrapped around his waist. Hawke's mouth went dry.

"So uh, everything all right?" Hawke asked.

Anders let the towel drop. "I wanted to thank you."

"Oh. Make. Um." He looked to his partner, who tilted his head. "Filet. Out, boy." _Daddy's gonna get laid._ He opened the door to the motel room, ordering, "Guard the place," and shut it quickly, turning just seconds before Anders pinned him to it, kissing him deeply.

Forget the bonus, Hawke thought, this would work.


	43. Danarius/Fenris - NC-17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Danarius/Fenris  
> Rating: NC-17  
> Warnings for non-con
> 
> For HL who wanted dark Danarius/Fenris, with Fenris having inner, conflicting thoughts about Danarius as he's being raped.

The pain was something he'd grown used to, the burning ache in backside, his knees sore and bruised. His body could handle it. Even Danarius's hands, cold and calloused, running over his chest and stomach, was fine. The whispers he heard, "Good little wolf. Yes, such a good, tame pet," were mere background noise to the thoughts running through his mind. At first, he thought it was normal. He was a slave, a tool to be used by Danarius however he wished. He might have even convinced himself it's what he wanted. After all, Danarius was different in the daylight. Fenris fought hard for the praise that didn't come so easily. He clung to every touch, every little pat on his head or stroke of his hair. He craved the attention and affection.

But at night, something was different. Danarius became colder somehow when they were alone. The words were the same, perhaps even more affectionate. But with every thrust, Fenris was reminded that he was a slave in a way that no spoken or even snapped order in the daylight could make him feel. His skin crawled with every little tender kiss to his neck and shoulders. But he stayed silent. To disobey his master at night, after all, meant worse punishments in the morning.

He kept silent as Danarius came inside him, felt his hot breath across his shoulder, and winced when his master pulled away. Standing, Danarius wrapped a robe around himself, and reached out, ruffling his hair. Fenris wished he wouldn't.

"Very good, pet. I'll see you for breakfast."

"Yes, Master," Fenris answered automatically.

The door shut.

Fenris limped to the wash basin and cleaned himself up before looking out the window. The moon hung heavily in the night sky, dark clouds passing in front, and Fenris wondered just what made the night so different from the daylight.


	44. Hawke/Anders - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Hawke/Anders  
> Rating: G
> 
> For Anon who wanted Hawke and Anders as kids doing kid stuff around the Fereldan countryside. I'm not sure if this exactly fits the anon's prompt, so dear anon if you want a different one, just ask. :)

"I had another dream last night," Anders said, his toes dangling into the stream.

"Oh?" Garrett, balancing barefoot on a log turned to look at his friend. Anders was two years older than him, a lot smarter, and definitely way more popular with the other village kids. But for whatever reason, Anders liked him best, and they spent most of their time together. Once the farm work was done, they would meet in the woods and play until dark.

"I was being chased by something." Anders lay back in the grass, his blond hair fanned out around his head, arms tucked up underneath as he stared at the sky. "Maybe a woman? She said I could have whatever I wanted."

Garrett frowned and crossed the log, stepping over Anders, one leg on either side of him. He crouched down to look him in the eye. "Did she have horns?"

"I think so. And a tail."

"Don't do what she says."

"Why?"

Garrett fell back, landing awkwardly on Anders' stomach. Anders let out an, "Oof!" and they rolled over together, legs entwined.

"Why?" Anders asked again, looking down at him.

Garrett gritted his teeth, but held out his palm and let a flicker of flame form there before he closed his fist around it. "Demons."

Anders' eyes widened. In all the years they'd known each other, Garrett hadn't once shared this secret. He knew mages were dangerous, everyone said so. But this was his best friend. "Wait. Do you think that I…"

"Maybe," Garrett said. "You could be one too. But don't tell anyone."

"I wouldn't."

"And don't talk to the lady."

Anders nodded. "I promise."

Garrett kissed him chastely on the lips. "I would be sad if you were gone."

Anders blinked, then smiled. "I promise," he said again, and hugged him tightly.

They parted ways a few hours later, Anders to return home for his twelfth name-day dinner, Garrett to his family's farm just up the road. He promised to bring Anders some books on magic, and to keep him safe if it turned out that he, too, was a mage.

"No one," he whispered to himself as he followed the path, "is going to take my friend."


	45. pre-Dorian/Fenris - PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: pre-Fenris/Dorian  
> Rating: PG
> 
> For HL who wanted a slight AU where Fenris was a gladiator and Dorian was one of his biggest fans.

Everyone threw trinkets. It was customary, and if you were sitting in the expensive seats – which Dorian did, of course – it was expected. Not doing so would be committing a terrible social faux pas. But the problem was that most of the gladiators in the Provings were dull. None of them had any panache or flair, and Dorian found his mind drifting elsewhere. That was, at least until his favorite gladiator stepped into the arena. Tall for an elf, shocking white hair, and tattoos of lyrium, his name meant "Little Wolf" but he was anything but little. Oiled up and wearing leather leggings, well-defined muscles that he put to good use as he fought, Fenris was the ultimate warrior. He phased through his enemies, showering himself and the first rows of the audience in blood as he exploded them from the inside out, earning himself the other, less used but no less impressive nickname of "Fen'Elgar" – the Spirit Wolf.

Dorian didn't just clap for him, but stood, whistling sharply, and when Fenris turned toward the audience, Dorian showered him with gold and roses, joining the others that fell to the sand to be collected by the slaves the worked the Provings. Fenris, covered in blood and dirt and sweat, caught Dorian's eye. Dorian immediately pulled out an embroidered handkerchief, one with the Pavus family crest embroidered on it, and flicked it out toward him. Fenris smirked and trotted over, climbed the wall, and plucked the handkerchief from his fingertips.

"You're the only thing worth watching in this wretched place," Dorian said.

Fenris tucked the handkerchief into the waistband of his leggings, winked, and dropped back to the ground to wave at the rest of the crowd. Dorian heard the clearing of a throat behind him, turned, and saw his father sitting calmly, eyebrow raised.

"Well he is," Dorian huffed, and resumed his seat. Despite his father's obvious disdain, Dorian knew they would be back next month, and nothing would stop him from enjoying Fenris's fights.


	46. pre-Hawke/Anders, Isabela, Carver - PG

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: pre-Hawke/Anders  
> Rating: PG
> 
> For doof, who wanted Isabela and Anders discussing the sexy employees of Hawke Brothers Lawn and Garden Service while they watched.

"Oh look at him bend over." Isabela stretched, tipping her sunglasses down a bit.

"As if I could miss it," Anders said. "I don't prefer him, though," he said, in reference to the younger Hawke brother, who was leaning over, spreading mulch in the flower bed.

"Hm, I don't know. I think I could definitely show him a trick or two."

"And that's where you and I differ," Anders said, perking up as the elder Hawke brother came from around the corner of the house, pushing a lawnmower.

"I didn't know you were into that type."

"What type?" Anders asked, sipping his iced tea. It was a perfectly hot day, the sun beating down without a cloud in the sky. They'd been swimming in his pool for most of the morning and after hearing the Hawke Brothers Lawn and Garden Service truck pull up to their neighbor's house across the street, they decided to take a leisure break and watch the show. Not that he particularly liked his neighbor, Ms. Stannard, but she did have an excellent taste in lawn care companies.

"Hair and muscles."

The beard, Anders admitted, was a definite turn on. As were the muscles. He watched the elder Hawke stop the mower and pull off his t-shirt to reveal a well-defined musculature and dark chest hair.

"That is just not fair," Isabela moaned.

"…I'm going to talk to him," Anders said.

"Go get him, tiger."

Anders poured another glass of iced tea and, anticipating rejection but hoping for the best, started across the street. The elder Hawke glanced up from the mower he was fiddling with, and stood.

"Help you with something?" he asked.

Anders handed him the glass. "My name is Anders. I couldn't help but notice you're gorgeous."

The elder Hawke raised an eyebrow but took the glass, and smirked as he sipped. "Garrett."

"So I live across the street. Care for a swim later?"

Garrett finished the drink in two swallows, Adam's apple bobbing beneath his sweaty skin. "We'll be done in an hour. I'll send my brother home with the truck."

"Well, you see, my friend," Anders said, gesturing.

Garrett chuckled, deep and sensual, and Anders found himself leaning forward a bit. "Yeah. Yeah I think that would be great. Anders. Until then," he said, handing the glass back, and starting the mower again, "enjoy the show."

_Oh,_ Anders thought, as he backed away, _I will._


	47. Anders/Karl - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: Anders/Karl  
> Rating: G
> 
> For Jen, who is one of my best friends, helping me through some tough times. Thank you.

Anders clutched the letter in his hand so tightly the paper wrinkled. Below deck of a trader's ship it was dark, almost impossible to see. Using his magic would tip off his fellow stowaways. They were heading across the Waking Sea, making the short but treacherous journey in the choppy, unpredictable waters toward Kirkwall. It was the sender of the letter that prompted his escape. Of course he'd tried to make it to Kirkwall before, but until the events that led up to this moment transpired, he hadn't been able to make it. The Grey Wardens played no small part, those whom he still called friends, which were few. Buying passage cost him nearly every bit of coin he owned, but it was worth it. He was going to Kirkwall, he was going to save Karl. He looked down at the letter through the dim light streaming through the cracks, but he didn't need to see the words to know what they said. He had them memorized, and deciphered the coded language Karl used.

_Anders,_

_I know you. I know what must be going through your mind. The tone of your last letter worries me. It sounds like you found your freedom with the Grey Wardens, even if there are templars among the ranks. They can't touch you. They can't make you Tranquil, and they can't force you back to the Circle. Your life has a higher purpose now._

_The Wardens will let you write to me regularly, even if I can't send timely replies. The Circle here is different from Fereldan's. It's much stricter. There are more rules about straying into unsupervised areas. Harder to find time alone and privacy. Not that what I'm doing requires any privacy, lest you think I've found someone to replace you._

Anders allowed himself a small smile at that. When Karl was transferred, he promised himself he wouldn't find another lover, though Karl assured him it would be all right if he had. Sadly it was a promise he broke, one he regretted. His heart remained with Karl, the only thing that made living in that tower worth it.

_Please don't come to Kirkwall. It's too dangerous for you. Stay with the Wardens, and try to have a good life._

_Yours always,_

_Karl_

Anders folded the paper and tucked them inside his coat. He gripped his staff, careful to control his magic, lest he blow up the ship. He would find Karl. He would rescue him from the Circle. Somehow they would find his phylactery and destroy it, and find a way to live life together, outside the scrutiny of the Chantry.

Somehow.


	48. m!Lavellan/Bull, Cole - G

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing: m!Lavellan/Bull  
> Rating: G
> 
> My dear friend Hana requested an Inquisitor talk with Cole post-Corypheus. I used my [Inquisitor Elassan Lavellan](http://i.imgur.com/0idxUKN.png) to fill the role.

"You're sad."

Elassan looked over, reaching automatically for his bow which wasn't there. _It's a party,_ he reminded himself. _You're safe._ After losing so much in his life, being surrounded by so many people felt odd. Even now after Corypheus's defeat, the victory felt hollow somehow.

"You're still hurting."

Cole wasn't a shemlen. Not that Elassan still held onto his previous prejudices indiscriminately anymore. Bull, his lover, taught him that it was okay to trust. To let people in, be they other elves, Qunari, shems, or even spirits like Cole.

The cold wind blew across the ramparts of Skyhold. After a brief intermission from the party in which Bull kissed him breathless, Elassan took to the castle walls where he felt more comfortable than down in the main hall.

"Sometimes it's okay not to talk," Cole continued. He appeared suddenly on the wall next to him, perched like bird, knees touching his chin. "It's okay to feel lost."

Elassan blinked, then pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes, trying not to think about his clan, his twin brother Miel, the people in the Inquisition, all he'd lost. Shutting himself away from the pain was easier than feeling it. Never letting anyone get close was better. But the Iron Bull somehow found his way in. And now…

"You fear losing him."

He hated that Cole could see inside his mind, his soul. "I know Bull can take care of himself." He'd seen Bull fall dozens of times in battle, and every time he managed to stand up again.

Cole hummed a moment, as if looking for words. "Safe and secure, snug by his side, he makes you forget, which makes you scared. If you forget, how can you honor the memory of those you lost? I don't understand. They'll be there, even if you don't think of them all the time."

Elassan touched the necklace which belonged to Miel, a simple rope with a wooden carving of an arrow crossed with a dagger. It was no bigger than a silver coin and he rubbed absently at it. Cole was right. If the battle with Corypheus taught him anything, it was that you should keep fighting. That while loss was painful, it was a part of life, and living life meant trusting others to care for you when you didn't think you could handle it.

"Kadan?"

Elassan and Cole turned in unison. Bull stood at the top of the tower stairs.

"You're gonna miss all the little cakes you like so much."

Elassan felt a hand on his arm, a gentle squeeze, then it was gone, but Cole's comforting words stayed with him even as the spirit disappeared to give them privacy. He smiled and walked into Bull's embrace, the heavy feeling in his stomach lightened for now.


End file.
